by Summer Brianna Whiteside

The Last Love Poem

by Ethan Risinger

She told me in a purple room (velvet under hand) that she has never been in love (sun bends over window). Even now if she doesn't love me like (pressure from rain on leaf) I love her it is ok (melon rocking light in field). I will be there every day (bowls filled with milk) to show her love under every full (imprint of knuckles in dirt) or crescent, wilt and bloom, (leaves still, branches in pond)

42 until we can only cry when we kiss (hands cupped with wind).

43