It is that time again,
You know? The chins
Come out to meet
The shins.

When sweaters hang up and
The sun is warm;
Fill up your cup
With stuff.

Empty now, as before;
Have another
With your brother,
For sure.

Blurry now, like back when
Grins met our eyes;
Sins met our thighs.
Your loss.

I remember what you
Wore the night you
Swore that word you
Hate: love.

Sweaters soon.
This sandpaper chin has
Got to go
Or this beard will be my
Mask until
It is that time again.