I write you poems all the time
Every time you cross my mind
My mouth never utters a word of you
But my mind it never shuts up, its true.

I write you poems all the time
And tear them up and say I'm fine
That I don't need you in my life
But my mind says otherwise.

I wrote you poems when we met
They were so different back then
I spoke of love and innocence
My mind was stuck on you, my friend.

I wrote you poems in Autumn
When the leaves died I thought of them
I thought of what we were back then
But we know things have to change again.

The brisk air of dawn carries the chill of Autumn
Burnt oranges, deep greens and earthy browns
Linger in nature's peripheries

Twilight casts away the warm remains of high noon
As downtown city streets lay dormant
The glow of incandescent light pouring from old windows

The odd dog-walker out on an evening stroll
The world abundant in olfactory pleasures
Owner clad in scarf and light jacket

That funny mid-way between hot and cold
Never knowing whether to open your window
Or savour the warmth radiating from the stove

Autumn is soon returning
Butternut squash, allspice and pumpkin
Mittens, thick socks and morning breath in the air

All those precious water-soaked leaves
Lining the streets
Calling you forward into the season of change

Memories of the senses
Are unlike the memories of the mind
The recollection of touch
A surge of neurological lightening
I never knew warmth could crash like waves
That bass hit in earthquakes



Or that freckles induced time travel