I still feel the heat of it
and it has nothing to do with summer
or even the turmoil that filled
these over warm summer days
it stays with you
building up like an unwatched pot
getting ready to boil over
I struggle to keep it contained
to let the chill of the approaching season
lower the temperature
I cannot otherwise control myself
I ache for it all to go back
to what it was before before the turmoil
before the summer heat
before I knew who she was
or how she felt then stopped feeling
before I needed to turn down
the flame under the pot
I ache for fall to come
the change of leaves
that change dying leaves
each season bringing its own relief
and still I feel the heat
that moment when the pot
just started to boil
when I still had the sense to
turn it off and didn't
forced into summer
later a blessing in disguise
even if it felt compromised
summer ends and I crave fall
it is all I can do
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