I, no more
count years
in new year's eve,
I, count years
in birthdays,
your birthdays.
Not speaking for months,
then,
a happy birthday
and a new roller coaster
begins

The cold hands of January
grasp at February’s promise,
the warmth of March
always just out of reach.

You rub my shoulders,
kiss away the ache
as April continues her rain
over gentle, submissive May.

We sing the song of the whippoorwill,
its haunting anthem spilling
out across the valley floor
when June gives in to July

and August crowns the summer sky.
September will leave
when the colors bleed,
October betrayed by the coming frost.

What will you do
when November comes,
when ice and pain
move in to claim my breath?

Comfort me.
Smile with me.
Lie to me.
Tell me there is no December.

Day and night
Night and day
Keep on going
It's just been two days

Count in weeks.
Why not months ?
Because it's been long....
Since we last talked

Winter’s early months,
Carries a solemn sound,
Paired bitter fragrance,
Filled the vacant soul,
Think soley of biting frosts.

Winter’s middle months,
Assemble a bird’s tune,
Matching candied scents,
Known of lining mind,
Broods of woeful age.

Winter’s late months,
Carts a vivid air,
Coupled **** savored,
Divines the untold echo,
Fashions a taper edge.

I met you in September
When the leaves were just tempted to change
I met you in September
When the earth felt like autumn in the rain
I met you in September
3 months shy of my birthday
I met you in September
apart from headache or drama
I met you in September
listening to Frank, Kendrick and Lana.

I met you in September
and so I say it clear
I only met you in September
because it's my favourite month of the year.