The last autumn leaf had fallen.
A gust had taken it off its perch
and sent it earthbound.
It relished its slowed descent
only to be cradled by the ***** of the ground.

Then winter had been upon us.
Leaving us cold, desolate and empty.
Loneliness wielded a reckless brush
and had painted the backdrop
of our minds with vast whiteness
accentuated by the greys of uncertainty.

The leaf froze and crumbled to dust.
Just as we would have if not for
the mantra of hope.
Of which,
dreams might again spring forth.
Engulfing and taking us home.

We'd journey through scented spring -
soaking up the amber of days
and the fragrance of flowered fields.
We'd run our fingers over the tops of tall
dew-peppered grass.

We sing the same chorus
as we turn our heads towards
the suns of summer.
A haven where we believe all is hale
and the fires in our hearts
will once again be rekindled.

I've tried to warn you
again
and again
about

those times you say
your hair is ugly
because it doesn't glow
as you'd like to

or you are as uninteresting
as a grain of salt
dropped in the water
of a cosmic ocean

or your gritty knees
aren't lovely because
they aren't soft enough
to sleep over them

or your eyes aren't shining
because you feel
you are empty
as if nothing matters

I've tried to warn you,
the dearest of my moons,
that you are
so wrong.

I find you,
let's see,
fascinating,
glowing,

chaotic,
enigmatic,
magic,
soft,

lov­ely,
ephemeral,
yet,
so unforgettable

I find
your hair
dancing
with your shoulders

to some music
that
was really
acute

yes, I find it
so amusing
I could stare you
for hours

(no matter
how much
your hair
'isn't glowing')

I say, I can connect with your veins
and navigate
through
all your inner galaxies,

in constant expansion,
with their entropy
walking around
in the park of life

and I believe
it is
so wonderful
I can't believe my eyes.

I could get lost in your skin
every time
you get
asleep,

because
Radiohead isn't enough
to make me feel
like a lost song

if I'm not lost
around you,
then,
why am I lost?

and, yet,
your eyes
are a mystery
waiting

for the rain
to come
and wash you away,
and wash mankind away

that's why,
my darling,
I keep insisting
that

you
are
so
wrong.