This morning your side of the bed was cold. I’m not used to this.

We had an Indian Summer and on mornings you left early
remnants of your body heat
warmed and lulled me to sleep.
It’s November and it feels like winter in my bones.
The seasons passed over Autumn with no regard and we will travel through 5 states to find her.
We will
****
in strange beds, connecting by way of mouths, hands and words.
I always love your words whispered against my neck.
We will wake in towns with names that sound like a childhood game where you kissed your best friend on a dare.
When we find Autumn you will photograph her, because she’s beautiful and one day we’ll look back and admire how her beauty never faded.
We always noticed when she didn’t come around and every November we searched together for her.
Every November my heart beat differently.