Autumn Comes

Autumn Comes

We pressed our cries into pillows
Like wildflowers onto pages,
As though we wanted to keep them
For our own.

Between our hardcovers and taut spines
We dried them, our baby’s breath blossoms
And forget-me-nots, before time could
Pluck their petals and bow their heads.

I keep them by the bed,
A bouquet of our sweet music
That we made one evening as
Summer waned and the last of its flowers
Grew from our lips
Begging for remembrance.

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Scarlett St. Clair