November, how I miss you

November, how I miss you.
Once filled to the brim with
beautiful conversations (digital words of suppressed solitude)--after months of
expected silence--you now rest between the bridges of my palms.

For in August
I met my heart in the dreary
prison of conformed education,
(of flag-pole worship, of "Breaking Dawn")
and months of words, of subtle gestures,
rang loudly like scheduled bells.

With passing themes: innocence and experience,
how compelling the poems--
that nuzzled themselves in my brain.
(beauty and truth, is what it sang)

But I had to bury you,
Cover you with secrecy,
(the inevitable tragic end)
like a thin blanket,
coiled around my delicate hand.