In A Pile of Leaves and Ash

It is early October
too cold
for Summer's light.

Legs crossed Indian in the driveway
I sit
smoking myself warm.

Watching him
flicker;
my own last pocket star.

All the others have died
after three year time allotments
then a last season of glory.

He remains
huddled in my palm.

We have both been left.

After summer
in the cold.

Tuesday Night

You hold my hand,
I am counting.

How long till you let go?

Mid Week

Even in a moment
I am outside of it
Analzying.

I want to make a map of you
Then follow those lines
To the inside.

80s Windbreakers

Child:
slips, trips, skips.

Adult:
Leftover cheerios in a bowl full of sour milk.

Clicks, Stutters, Leaks

My bones clatter,
I realize sex is all elbows and ankles.

Love: a bat of eyelashes, a bite of tongue.