We walked under maple trees and
The dewy autumn leaves were plastered
Thick and heavy like wet newspaper strips
Folding and praying for their papier-mâché
Tourniquet to hold our splayed limbs
Together so this moment lasts just a little while longer
But the leaves will dry,
The winds will pick up,
For this is the season
We chose to plant our love.
Sweetly Unhappy People 