About our had

[Agogforfoam]

There's only death but shade of love
spews over mind and frantically works.
In the end nothing left
but rattling, spare branches where flowers fled
boughs they blossomed. What were birds that sang?
Gesture of the mind or figment of the woods.
It's almost as if, body to bare bark, I can sit
talking to you, in the place of us we made.
The have of our had. Which you don't want anymore.
Doesn't make sense when only your sitting with my sitting
would make our place, brown greying, light splintering bark,
lovely again, good, ours and sweet.
I don't know why you don't want
to sit with me anymore.