I martyred my mind
to the cause of loving you,
and then I sold my body down the river
hoping to get it back.

Now all that's left of me
is a catch in autumn's throat;
the last clump of flaming leaves
struggling towards the empty
blue sky, before night sweeps in
trailing her purple-black cloak of icy stars
and shames the foolhardy
into joining their withering companions.

But there is something delicious
about watching a soul rend itself
from rationality. Like a child who twists free
of your hands and plunges
into the sea of traffic to satisfy
the mayhem in his heart.

When he reaches the concrete shore
and surveys the madness
of what he has done, you grab sight of him
and try to devour the wild look in his eyes.