In The Fall of The Summer of Love
The summer I turn 19, I meet the man who will love me
and stop loving me. This is also the year I turn bronze.
Each morning, I drop a coin in a bowl near the bed.
Let it not be today.
If he stirs, I press my fingers over his mouth
until he falls back asleep.
One morning I begin swallowing coins,
a penny at a time. When I try to speak, I hear my
tongue clanging against my copper teeth.
Of course, this all becomes too much for him,
and he leaves in late August, knocking books off our
shelves in his race to get through the door,
dodging the hash pipe I throw after him. Keep it!
shouts my former lover, rewrite our story as you please.
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