American Love

January 11, 2012
You see I’ve got this American Love,
the last pretty thing in this world,
who innocently gave his heart
to anyone taking a second look,
as I spent my summer
diving to the bottom—

I dig my grave,
but I cannot bear
to step inside.

You leave at the turn of autumn
with an empty suitcase
and a white handkerchief
stuffed down your throat;

You thought I knew better
than to tell a lie—
And when they find out,
they’ll sound every siren.

So close your eyes
because I can’t stand
to say goodbye.

You don’t know
how lovely you are,
my American Love.





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