My summer haze.
You exist
as salted scrunchies,
Freckled thighs,
Whiskey tongue.
You exist,
Right?

By Fall,
I know it to be true.
My autumn girl.
I look into her
tasting wet leaves,
pine and cinnamon.
Her body still
hot as August sun.

Fireplace feet,
wobbly knees under fleece.
Suddenly,
you are Christmas wine,
Snowflake tears.
Teeth never clattered,
Hands never cold.

I can’t see spring.
Perhaps that’s where it ends.
Maybe it never was.
Still,
I dream of you
And still,
I wonder
if you dream too.