first love seems so real

second's just for fun

third love's quite the prettiest

(fourth never sees the sun)

Wind kissed cheeks and blood blushed.

Hazelnut brown, Maroon, forest green, and sunset yellow are the leaves.

A soft crunch, half witted twirl, and I fall into the pile carelessly with my breath heavy and cold.

It's Autumn in your eyes and I'm in love.

Summer turns to Autumn
As Sleep abates my Days
In my Bed I shall rest
But rest I never may

I hear the Birds chirp
I see the Sun shine
If only I was deaf
If only I was blind

I could sleep
and not whine

As fawns become stags
And leaves, fallen gold,
As lakes freeze to rinks
So our hearts turn to stone

For our love has left us
With geese in the sky
But we'll remember September
'Til the day we die.

- p. winter

It's the color of her eyes; the color of the sea. In both you could drown, or find God himself. It's the space between cities. Road signs & right turns, and the quiet determination to unravel in her arms. The sheets on her bed at 3am, where she whispers "I love you" and you've never been so sure of anything. The breath you exhale after you kiss her; it's the color of the blood pumping through your heart. The heart that she keeps beating. The heart that has her name written all over it. It's the heaviness in anticipation. The insatiable desire for a minute, just one minute. It is not the opposite of passion, like once suggested. It is passion itself. It is the sound of whispers. Her breath on your neck, and shivers down your spine. The color that fills in the weeks until you see her again. But most importantly, it will always be the color of her eyes. And it is no coincidence they are the color of the sea.