A dead leaf falls between us. Red reminds us
of mortality. Yesterday was photosynthesis,
green breathing. We stood firm
on the forest’s comatose bed. Blood
is the answer, curse to romance in bloom.
Revelations of decay—an autumn
rushing up my cheeks. I look away.
I expect you to sprint across green pastures
where bees, pollen give us pulses.
I think of evening, a chilled bed,
a withering spectrum of winter leaves.
I look up expecting the cold moon,
yet your roots are still penetrating the earth.
You grab my hand knowing blood
stole our spring. But spring always returns
with a cleansing rain.
~ Charles McGregor
Charles McGregor teaches composition and creative writing at the University of Texas Rio Grande Valley (UTRGV). He is also the Web Editor for the literary journal riverSedge. His poetry, often tackling difficult queer issues in the southern United States, can be found in magazines such as Xenith, Enhance, No Infinite, Boundless, Portland Review, and The Missing Slate.