She tasted like apple cider,

smelled like cinnamon and campfire smoke,

words warm and cold she spoke,

but i knew i could never provide her,

for she moved to much like a spider,

red, oranges and yellows she wore as a cloak,

colors so bright and beautiful i could choke

listening to the birds as i lay beside her.

though autumn never lasted long,

getting too cold far too fast,

leaving me alone to listen to the birdsong.

her warmth left in that month,

leaving me hurt just as much,

even then i longed for her touch.