Jessica Bozek

The Leaf Transport

Wherein “I leave you” means “I shear you, I give up my share”

My fall leavings were hand-swept to dispersal—a seeding. You, my tree, what leaves on the ground. Brittled to a pulp.

“Leo, leaf me,” you pressed. The old leaves-die-leafs-light. You’re left all the same. A boring to bear.

Where you, kempt to the frame, kept figurines and postcards for their proximity to experience, I snuck portions of you, now finger the offs and outs, cast thefts across my chest in a bitty embrace.

To close, you loathed me too close. Leave me seasoned in what’s left: your tissued cloud, hairy field, linten vole.

Love a leaf feller

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