The trees stretched their limbs
to the songs of beginning,
and our lips met
to the flowers peeking.
The pools of our collarbones
bore traces of the ocean's poetry,
and the currents under our skin
glistened from the sun's gentle pecks.
Fall came,
and the trees bled red
until they were left as bare
as home when you walked away.
I wrote a silent surrender
on the frost of my windows,
come home please,
my tears turning into stars.
