Fall and trees and wondering about love

It’s:

twisted

crinkled like

the leaves

they’re frail now,

on the edge

of not there.

scrolling photos

feverishly 

on your best friend’s phone

and half falling

(like those leaves

before they get caught up)

by some other name

that shows up on race results

more often than my tongue.

perfecting photos

(i think we’re both

hoping

that someone will

love

us the way we

love

ourselves for photos

only we will ever know)

for no reason

the tree leaves

they’re falling

now

or soon anyway

they used to be

summer green

(i used to think

i loved you)

but now they’re old,

tired (thoughts)

sailing slowly

to the ground

crunched

on impact or  after

by someone’s careless fall boots

covered in stick season mud

(in stick season,

i wondered

if we were friends

oh well

the mud falls off

with time

steps traveled

people walked to

and from)

it’s freshman fall

the leaves turn orange

earlier

every year now

and we’re left on couches

pretending we’re staying up

fake teasing

about falling leaves

wishing we had trees

that grew old

grew leaves

season after

season.