november

I stared into your January
eyes
blurred and timid
scared of what was
to come.
I thought about your February
ears
open and alert
to hear new things
but still love
the old.
I heard your March
voice
patient, understanding
hoping for the
best.
I laughed with your April
cheeks
each one a tribute
to some unknown god
of life.
I leaned on your May
shoulder
and told you stories
of kings and martyrs
and you told me more.
I dreamed about your June
hair
perfect the way it was
but still just a tad out
of place
like it should be.
I breathed in your July
essence
and spit out the poison
like too many seeds
in a perfect fruit.
I bathed in your August
hope
that spark never far
from your imagination
and never shadowing
your fear.
I fell into your September
smile
so hard it hurt
as if a bed of razors
had cut the bad out of the
world.
I hesitated when I saw your October
mask
the truth peeking out from
behind the plastic,
the shell starting to
crumble.
I ran from your November
absence
so far that I couldn't tell
where it was
that I was going to
or where from.
And then I leaped into my own December
peace
away from this,
away from what is
dead.