Round harvest-time I slip away

to spare them winter's crueler teeth

while summer's warmth still gilds their skin—

such mercy-lies I whisper sweet

"Last night how you held me..."

Each season brings another garden

where lovers press their hopes to void

and I, still thinking kindness guides,

leave wreckage in my wake

"I love how you run your fingers through my hair. Stay... please just stay."

Beneath spring's heavy-laden boughs

each flower plucked before its time

leaves gardens barren, seeds unborn

Better this than to wither on the vine

"Remember when I showed you those poems I wrote? God, I've never shown anyone those..."

Till clarity cuts cold as frost:

I am no savior's gentle hand

but something darker, deeper-wrong

sightless hunger wearing shepherd's wool

"I told my dad about you yesterday. First time I've ever called someone 'the one.' He laughed about it, the way he is. I told him he was wrong about you."

Better she learn swift loneliness

than what my patient poison brings—

a wolf would only tear her flesh,

I'd make her long for such release