First days of autumn.
Cascading tranquility
pulsates through my skin.

Love stands at its peak,
its feet en pointe, fingertips
reaching for the clouds.

You're the whistling wind.
My heart flies along smoothly,
Like a chipped red leaf.

The outside air steps
that much closer to the age
of hibernation.

Winter approaches,
daggers in its icy hand
to quell Love's harvest.

Thankfully, for us,
we see no signs of frostbite.
Ignorance is bliss.