The air is crisp
and on the cusp of contrast
with our breath.
Leaves tell tales of sleep and dreams
and a temporary sort of death

Your hair and your eyes
and the way your hands
rest upon your thighs
make the corners of my mouth rise

You're quiet, calm collectedness
soothes me,
and when I can't see you
or hear your voice,
I panic and drop things

Basket case…
I know
Afraid to let these
feelings go

But it's down to the wire...
and I've wasted
so much precious time
quenching a fire
that could've made the sun look cold.
Should've never let love grow old

But if it's too late,
I'll sleep here
in this bed of my mistakes,
I'm getting old
and I'm running quickly out of slack to let
I'll happily hold on
to what you let me keep
and I'll take what I can get….