The false Autumn when the leafs shed like your sleeveless bridal gown, in a cooler than expected September that gave you goose bumps and I imagined like a rumour you had a tattoo of some past love. For when I said I do the past should be a spent, bereft of decayed leafs and longings. We have our own pinnacle to the stars, an unspoken trust and no false reasons to be other than who we are.