Your face is like autumn's edge

The endearing triumph of tucking away summer. The shallow walks in woods, arms enveloped in anothers, wrapping oneself into the arsenal of comfort.

The sun ending in early afternoon, setting itself over that trail from the nape of your neck to your lips, which my finger-leaves grazes ever so slightly, falling away from the knowing of branched arms. That leap of faith stumbles so gracefully, suddenly, the shining of the first touch-fall, delicately inching it's way to the ground of your lips. I'm grounded in this fall, feathers melting in the setting sun of your half closed eyes. The parting sigh of ending summer, one last sizzle until you make your claim, burrow yourself into the center of me, cool me down and say, "I am here to stay." I take comfort in your coming. The knowing that you offer something unfleeting, something that repeats itself year after year, and yet, I am still mesmerized by it's beauty, still amazed that it comes, still unsure how luck could ever find me.

Your face is like autumn's edge; tumbling lovely for sleep, keeping me wanting more.