There are tales of thorns running through bushes
I’ll never finish this note.
Found strangers staring in aftermath
I was just there to gloat.
Strangely he put his hat on the shelf
With no regard to what he had left.
Felt strangely familiar to me in retrospect
But then so did the endearing theft.
We hid notes in tables that weren’t even there
Sang songs nobody had heard.
There were apples growing beneath our feet
We shifted nearly every word.
Love isn’t what we found that day
It was more of an appetite.
We felt the desire and ignored it in haste
There will be no lust here tonight.
We shared souls in evenings we don’t recall
Said words that only left us in haste
Cried when it all ended that spring
Walked away with only a taste.