Perhaps this is just me being too metaphorical again when
i say, it’s strangely fitting
that as summer’s thick air gave way to
the slow set-in of Fall season, I was
falling too.


Or maybe I am only acknowledging now.
Because, you see, day to day
Summer looks the same.
Sometimes it rains or the
temperature fluctuates,
but unlike the other seasons,
new buds don’t bloom
Leaves are the same verdant hue every day
the trees don’t go barren.
Summer is redundant.
But in redundancy there is
simplicity and
predictability
from which I pry comfort
and happiness.
The same way I found comfort in the
predictability
that each humid day would be spent with you.
And we continued like summer, nothing changing,
but enjoying the
simplicity and
predictability.
Because everyone knows,
after summer there is always a
Fall.


And Fall has this way of
sneaking
right up under you.
The temperature will drop a couple of degrees
every day.
The air gradually grows brisk more and more
brisk.
And it’s not really noticeable.
Until the morning when I walk outside and decide
Wow it is really chilly-- I might need
a coat.
And I finally see
and feel
that Fall is here.
Although I admitted I wanted
a coat,
that it would be in my best interest,
I didn’t yet
need it.


I denied a true desire, pushed it to
the side,
forced the thought out of my head,
because giving in to the
warmth of
a coat
would mean that this Fall was all too real-
When what I really miss is the summer,
the sunny days,
the predictability
the simplicity
of us.


But of course as this Fall progresses
the wind’s teeth grow sharper
and the air is biting and more
biting.
My denial for a coat becomes more irrational,
no longer do I want
a coat--
it is a need
a craving, the same raw craving i have for
you.


And now here we are at Autumn’s close,
the air is growing frigid and more
frigid
and I can’t fathom going a day or even
part of a day without
a coat.
Dear, you
are
my coat. And I swim in my regret for
denying avidity
for so long.
I guess I just didn’t want
this Fall to start because
where there is a start there is an
end. And trailing
the heels of Autumn’s cusp,
is winter’s dreadful near.
So daunting is December’s bareness,
how Trees in the winter are experts at letting
things go.
I don’t want to have to
learn from the trees, please--
Don’t make me write about
Winter.