leaves may fall the same time every year,
petals droop and die, snow drifts and falls,
day concedes to night concedes to day,
your eyes meet mine like magnets.
yet, this year: time is too quick,
autumn is too early, the cold winds unexpected,
the dark sets in mid-afternoon,
flowers died all too long ago.
and we just don't realise, then,
that your hand still meets mine
your lips taste just as wet
your hair is just as soft
the future we build in dreams
but the leaves keep falling and
the pain comes with horrible consistency.
