Day Seventeen.
The woman holds out leaves of paper
That fall from her hands like autumn
But crash to the floor like a hurricane
Without words he pulls her to him
Encompassing her in his long arms
she doesn’t even try to stretch her wings
just crumbles like the ruins of a decaying façade
letting herself be consumed by something larger than her
He holds her like the binding of book
Trying to hold onto the loose pages of life.