…when the leaves fall away,
then burgeon into hues of green,
and the sky yawns and stretches,
summering ideals of cooler days,
in which I was a shadow,
while preparing to heat a future,
for someone brighter and warmer.
…with his darker features,
and hat of a style long worn,
his poetry of places I long to be,
who endeavors to be untouchable,
from his need to be deeply touched,
and the music he writes me,
which requires no instrument.
…when I fall to dark places,
and for men who are alone in love,
carrying burdens of earlier times,
on their slumped shoulders,
while searching for a savior,
in vice after vice after vice,
when here I am.
…with his wayward philosophies,
for he falls for women,
who giggle when trying not to speak,
holding back her past mistakes,
seeing all the best parts of him,
when he doesn’t see them himself,
and fixing the worst.
…when midsummer ebbs to autumn again,
reminding of the one before,
as leaves dry and learn to let go,
while blazing fire pits renew,
and the embers burn as I once did,
with our goodbye and his thought,
that one swallow doesn’t make a summer.
One swallow does not a summer make (Proverb of Erasmus): A single instance of something does not indicate a trend.
Wake me up when September ends. – Green Day