(i can't remember how to write, how do i forget how to feel?)

[_setablaze]

there is a stirring (in) a head
that justs that first autumn breeze
months ahead of itscontextualdelivery.
and that is you in to me,
when that abrasive reaction causes such misery;
(of which you interject to me so accusingly)
that you do not come before you in my calender year
yet march to february could never fill with such,
that is such, the real season of my heart--

so, let the mays perish the junes and past-inbetweens,
when i should want just one leaf to thread through fingertip(s)
(and let consume me -for known are its fleeting ways)
. . . quite past my desire to swallow it whole
-along with (such FULL) words
(of which you interject to me so accusingly).
but i will tell her nothing but that,
i miss you in the breaths between your words.
and she will scorn to me like the falling leaf
and blow away like that first autumn breeze.