by Austen Juul-Hansen

In the fall I grew my hair out
Past my shoulders but no one believed me
The room was bleak
Filled with false intimacies,
Tenderness by which I was blinded
Until the walls spun out like those teacups
And people spoke to me in the quiet
Some things external
Now silenced by the privacy of this lonely moment
She said we would not repeat ourselves
September not marked as it was before
I knew things would reset
I knew it would be fresh
Like the smell of my sheets, and her skin
I was naive of seasonal change
I let magic take me, once again
How do I trade truth for last fall
I know nothing of September this time