Right now, you and I are compost, Set aside behind the shed. Bruised fruit, wilted greens, Old words we never said. You’re the peels and fading blossoms, Soft and sweet and torn I’m the brittle autumn leaves From seasons already worn. It’s messy work, it isn’t pretty, There’s a tenderness in decay All the things we thought were ending Are just finding another way, Beneath the loss and pain. Someday we’ll be good soil, Dark and rich and deep. What we couldn’t hold in summer The earth will choose to keep. Every bruise and every fall Will feed what’s yet to be Right now we’re just breaking down, But someday we’ll grow free. Coffee grounds and torn-up letters, Eggshells, husks, and time Nothing here is wasted Though it feels like decline. Heat is rising slow between us, Hidden in the rot, Life is forming in the places We thought the sun forgot. It’s messy work, it isn’t pretty, There’s a tenderness in decay All the things we thought were ending Are just finding another way, Beneath the loss and pain. Someday we’ll be good soil, Dark and rich and deep. What we couldn’t hold in summer The earth will choose to keep. Every bruise and every fall Will feed what’s yet to be Right now we’re just breaking down, But someday we’ll grow free. Roots don’t grow in polished stone, They need what’s torn apart. The sweetest fruit comes later on From what first broke the heart. Someday we’ll be good soil, Where new green things can rise. The garden doesn’t fear the fall It trusts the quiet skies. So let the seasons have their say, Let the old leaves turn to loam If love can change like this with time, Then breaking down’s not done It’s just the way we’re grown. You’re the fruit and I’m the leaves, And we’re becoming a home, We both need.
