when it comes to you
I fall softly as I turn crimson
from the heat of a touch
as an apple fallen off the tree
when its overripen by the sun
as I turn orange as a pumpkin
pie wafting through the kitchen
or sitting outside on the wooden steps
yellow as the hay that’s been swept up
in the barn after a long day
of milking the cows
the cascading leaves swirling
int the crisp, cool air makes me want to
pull you closer and fall into a bed of them
piled as high as a mountain