I miss familiarity;
soft skin pulled over
cheekbones,
red lips poised to speak.

What came out of the mouth
changed as do the seasons.
Summer got the worst
of me, it seems;
angry words at best.

I extend my wrist now
in this blustery fall
to a fresh face,
hoping it will lead me
to unweathered bliss.

Winter will come
as the beginning
of something new.