Love, Loss and February

19 Feb

I can feel the summer fading from my lips, my throat, the backs of my knuckles, the soil. Sucking the moisture out of everything.

Amaryllis cracks and coagulates crimson. Withers ‘gainst the twine.

It will bloom again, stronger than before.

But first it gets to droop, droop, drop.

We get to mourn the loss for a while.

And then we stop.

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