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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