Boy

I would

I’d jump into yours

Yours

Despite the syncope

No matter the string-along

I will

I’ll fall into you

You

My drummer boy

My guitar man

Feathery I

I think I’ll spend Saturday
As an injured bird
That had fallen the Friday before
Should Sunday
Be gifted to me
A Phenix I think I will be

I can’t make the plaid
Take its leave of my mind’s eye
Regardless, I’ll try

Why would winter or spring or summer
Ever endeavor to touch this skin
Fall is all
I will hold Hope for

I like when leaves
Flee with ferocity
From the whipping wind
As if they teased it, “Tag!”

Draw me word pictures
Of all you saw that Summer
And how you came back

If your tears should come
Find my tears at the ready
To soften the fall