I carved a heart you swallowed in bark
not out of hunger,
but ritual.
Every autumn you let go
more easily than I do.
Every spring,
you grew further from the boy who named you.
A sneeze hangs in the air like a threat,
while the oak tree chuckles in yellow confetti.
My car wears a coat of guilty dust,
proof of spring's indecent proposal.
A crown of thorns he wore
On that judgement day
He carried his own cross
To show us all the way
His crown was not of gold
With jewels made to shine
It was made for pain