It still feels like a summer and there’s something about the smell
that turns me apprehensive. I love summer like I love,
whole in my heart. Sunscreen-smell like an old blanket,
smells like good. And I walk through the trees and it
smells good. Smells good like green, like trees, and it leaves a
  hole in my heart.

I put my hand in there to fiddle with the pieces
rattling & rolling around; I try to mend some of that.
Pulling strings like weaving. But the attention turns it into a mouth
and it bites -- it bites my hand! -- and I bleed.
It draws blood and it swallows the blood
which is OK because that is where blood even goes.

I grow around my heart while it grows inside me
so anyway we stay the same.