Milky golden light sawn through murky heavens and it bent my glacial heart. The scent of soggy leaves out on the lawn, fall has come and done its part. Winter weighs heavy in the idle air, hung as though it were a conversation not yet had
Waning passions hushed by waxing sighs and unpacked bags in need of packing before the coming sunrise. I talk of leaving often but you silence it with pint-size gulps of red wine, drunken *** and yet another argument before you cry