beckoning our secrets, lighting desires,
In clandestine revelry, we glow.
A sure beginning might well have a planned end,
in this perennial autumn, our love rose and fell.
Even shattered pieces glittered and reflected
of a time long past, of a love long lost.
Not one moment was lost in finishing,
that which took years to build.
Mountains of sand dissipated by
streams of time carrying sorrow.
Even so, on a cold lonely autumn day,
'Tis not now, but then that I crave for.
Sweet words parry through memories,
howling across perceived pain.
I sift and search for your face
achingly happy, level-headed pace.
Even on a peak, or down in a valley,
'Tis your shoulder my head wishes to grace.
