We speak on the shore,
tongues lapping,
each impulse,
a leaf on the water,
careening then swallowed.

You were evergreen then,
and deciduous I,
and perfidious I,
was born from.

Shuttered season.
I shuddered as your fingers map these veins.
Innumerable now.
Count these veins.

And I was red,
and upturned,
and I hoped you would die
before the springtime.

And I was red,
and upturned,
and I hoped you would die...

You were skipping stones,
toes in the water,
when I opened you.