The Fall

Anything after the crisp breathe of October hurts;
Like an ache deep in the fibers of muscle tissue,
Or a hangover you can never fully stomach through. 

Anything after the crisp breathe of October lingers;
A worried whisper echoing in the hollow of an ear. 
Remnants of blood orange and deep red run cold. 

The fires lick up the sides and all I can do is watch it burn. 
Watch it all unfold and surely
fall. 

BIATA

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