I live as the witness bearer to love's great shortcomings,
The root, the sap— testimony— "S.H.E." carved into my bark,
Deracinated, I live as capital collateral of love's great floodings.
The pocket's weapon of choice scars with it's forever mark.
I learned Spring watching neighbor trees. Fall? My falling leaves.
Personal buds blossom entirely of coincidence, better understood in concept.
Sun is better in theory, especially to one who grieves.
Unknown: if the rain of bereavement is cause or effect
Stumped by the coniferous, seeming yearly each deciduous is another.
Even not alone, the ground where I stand is shaded.
The love I shed feels given by a surrogate mother.
Despite the vast disconnect, I wouldn't claim to be jaded.
Knowing love as an abstraction from myself was always fated
Both I and it stem from my dysphoric self hatred
