Windy morning, rustling leavesYou reach for my hand and place it inside the warmth of your gloveFor a moment, I feel you hesitateAnd I, suddenly afraidRemember that you do not belong to meYou lean over to whisperThe warmth of your breathTickles, trickles,Down the length of my spineAnd I giggle… a bit madlyWithout a thought to the erratic winter aheadThen, on a spurAs if to serenade usDozens, hundreds, thousands of leavesBegin to float, flutter,A storm of chromatic rhythmFreewheeling… dancing… all around usIntoxicatedWe stand in stillness, drowning in petalsOur hearts whipping in the wild windI know how they feel… the October leavesI am also consumed, touched, inspiredBy your slick, glossy mysteryI nuzzle…