leaf on the tree
trembles
made brittle by scorching summer
browned in July
fallen in August
stomped in September
decomposed in October
I met the girl in November
on top of the wet leaves
we kissed in December
and the leaf trembled again
not from the wind
not from the cold
but from her nervous hands
and my thumping heart
and when I walked away
down the lonely path
I thought to myself
I want the world to tremble again
as we kiss
under the maple tree
where the leaves fall
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