my fingers pinch bruises
and thighs bending weight
underneath hips like knives
biting and stinging
but sweet
and when we leave here
it will be like my death
mourning for fall
until winter takes her place
you will do your very best
not to count our ages
to stop these moments taking over
leaving us possessed
but at the very end
i won't beg you to stay
and we won't speak of it
we will simply go about our day
until next spring
when the flowers
climb up through the dirt
longing for the sun
and the cycle begins again
