You only love auburn leaves
Rusted by acidic chills of a premature winter
Do you mistake atrophy for beauty?
Your elusive propinquity
Discoverable only by the effect of gravity on my skin
The young fray under your fingers (you say)
Verdant eyes, fledgling spirits
Snap too easily under the ferocity of bitter acrylic frosts
You term ‘the violence of your affection’.
I found your love between winter duvets
The last autumn leaves waved their solemn palms, framed by ice
As you traced their journey on my splintered face.