i truly fell for her in early fall
crisp winds growing colder
trees shaking loose their spring dressings,
naked targets huddled close
inexplicable mirrors of myself-
shucked of summer's sweet kisses
and raspberry wines
an ardent fluxing impatience
dwelling fiercely inside me;
it was when i lost count of the times
i disturbed her while reading
that it first was silent.

i wander through woods,
wake before the sun
and lay in the fields
counting the clouds sliding your direction,
but the silence won't have me
this pacing animal
incapable of stilling.
and i am petrified to write you-
my looping, intimate cursive
in itself a desperate plea
a quiet cry of defeat.