Dead leaf snagged in my car wipers,
our bond is superficial.
I know eventually it will rain and I’ll be forced
to use them, clearing my view
while freeing your corpse.
I’ll watch you fly away and, knowing you’re lost for good, I push forward.
We make eyes only for a moment because
I am seconds too late;
you’ve been eaten up by other dead leaves,
sopping heaps amassed along the road,
shaking and swirling in my rear view.
Maybe I should pick you off with my hands before the ride starts;
I might rip you apart but it’s better than watching you leave.
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