Your hands were crisp with the cold chill of autumn;
The spherical time bomb had transitioned into winter,
And your hands had crumbled into nothingness-
Only remnants of frozen ash had remained in the palm of my hand.
I saw far more in those ashes than most though.
I saw *** and lust and passion and want for hands to be against skin and skin to be against hands.
I saw the ashes as lust-full summers;
pure ****** and rose cigarettes.

Every time a cold wisp of winter air brushed against my scarred and pink knuckles,
I was reminded of the loneliness your hand had once provided me with,
And the way it simply gave up into mine, never to return again.
Goodbye said your hand,
And my hand soaked in all of your absolute nothingness,
Leaving me as absolute nothingness too.

Your hands were tight and hot and sweaty with the blinding scent of summer;
Pollin living within the beds of my moist eyelids
and cheek bones swollen with exhaustive heat.
The creases of my hands relishing in vitamin D;
Vitamin D relishing in my human skin-- am I normal yet?

Next to mine, your hand soaked it all in,
I soaked in the yellow, the yellow soaked in me, and you soaked in us both.
You drank our souls through a purple straw and puked us out onto a hotel bathroom floor--
Is this what summer's like?

It hurt how tightly you held onto me and how I was stitched into your lung, into your stomach.
My only escape being a bathroom floor,
And I was just hot.
Throbbing eyelids, throbbing cheek bones, throbbing hands--
I swore my hand would collapse into yours eventually. But it didn't,
Ironic isn't it.

Your hand was warm and soft with the feeling of compassion.
Your hand upon my neck and entangled amongst my falling hair,
It was sympathetic with the feel of a skinny stomach.
Where had mine gone?
Where did my skin go?
You held me and against the frail bones of my decaying skeleton
Suddenly I was feeling some sort of togetherness again.
The way Depp and Ryder had reminded so many of passionate love,
full of furiously mad happiness,
I was now seeing that.
A crumbling hand had now manifested from the fury,
into some sort of crave for my touch for my soul for my love.
I could feel my stomach again
My skin was forming over the once decaying bones
And there I was in your hands.

Memories of autumn and crumbling finger tips and skin and tissue and bones were now vanished.
Memories of summer and sweaty and obstructive hands were now nearly ambiguous to my past.
It didn't make a difference,
Because in that moment your hands were warm and soft and showing me what it was like to be a living, breathing carcass again.

You were now Johnny and I was now Winona,
And this love hate relationship was being felt in my bones, in my skin, in my palms,
And I knew--

You would always be my autumn
You would always be my winter
You would always be my summer
You would always be the forever on.