We’ve defined our silence
in the shriveled frost of sorrow.
I say heartache is beautiful,
you say I kiss like Judas.
Forgive me for not ever calling,
the end of Autumn darkens
this city darker than your hair.
Days are invisible. It’s always windy.
Leaves scratch the street’s face
with the sound of a kiss.
I hear them unintentionally
cut me as they pass by.