The boundaries that separate the sections of a leaf
saturate with the same proclivity all the tissues in my
heart
struggle to expunge when you say
you love me.
Do acorns not eventually turn into trees?
Veins running through the pages of time, intertwine
with memories of our first end-of-summer days,
when our flesh, forever expanding on the surface
of the other one, grew and will continue to grow
further into the darkened crevices,
charred when we flew too far from the sun.
I believe we’ve found the jet stream-
illuminated by the autumn light
that is presently guiding
You towards I.
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