Dead crispy frozen things
Crumble beneath our feet
And as your hand curls at the small of my back
I am crumbling also
At the whisper of your flannel
Against my hungry cheek
At the cold as it scorches my nostrils
Crackling into my lungs
Carrying with it the memory of burning fields
Mixed with the scent of you
At the way my voice doesn't seem to work anymore
At the way my hand curls
At the crook of your neck
All this as the leaves
make their frozen dead crispy crumbling way
into nothing
We are breaking apart.
