I know the leaves have
Already changed
Where she resides,
The tipping point of
When gold and red turn brown
And yet as I drive north
On a road that hugs a river
I cling to their aspect of beauty,
Taking in the painted tips
Remembering the tender lips,
the tree crowns
bulging out, making me ache
to touch, as I cling
to memory as these remaining
leaves cling,
the colors seeping into me
along with the growing chill
as the world changes
and I know I will have to
live with the barren world
when they are gone,
until spring brings green again,
yet it is not the same,
this image of leaves,
the color of the sky
the darkness in her eyes,
the setting sun peeking
perpetually through,
always drawing me back
always making me
think far too much
about what I miss,
when I miss her
most
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