the end of the beginning of the end

This is the closing poem of a cycle I've worked on concerning autumn.

third day of december and the air is balmy

like independence day - they call this indian summer

because it is an illusion, a wavering image

in a frozen desert, an american peace treaty,

a brazen lie - i call this the last chance

to raise grades in intro to psychology

or tell her how my tongue drowns in her name

and my mind stutters on her face, palms sweating,

before we break away for four long weeks -

this is a final opportunity for late coffee

and early cigarettes and endless conversations

because we will never be here again -

this is the end of the beginning of the end

and all that's left is one more lie

and one brave step down the slope

to start tumbling head-over-heels into something new

Reviews

[bellastella]

I really like "my tongue drowns in her name and my mind stutters on her face" it's so pretty and a new way to describe something that people say all the time. And, like I said, the way this ends kinda rolls you out like a rug for a king or something. Did you take out the intro to psych line and see how it flowed? Or does that make it too concentrated on the next two lines?