Spilled Tea

Autumn Daydream

I shrug on an oversized flannel,
closing my eyes
and wandering somewhere far off.

Colorful leaves in the wind,
the smell of coffee shops,
and your hand pushing
my sleeve so that you can
lace your fingers in mine.

Temptation to rest
inside your arms instead.
The chill biting my
less-acclimated skin,
everywhere besides
where your hand resides.

'Yes,' I think.
It will always be you
that is my warmth from the cold.

Your raised eyebrows,
and my realization that
I must've missed
something you said.

Your smile when you realize
I am not focused
due to these thoughts.

This questioning of how long
it will be until I am back home
under a blanket with you.

My footsteps match
in rhythm with yours,
knowing I would walk
for hours in the cold
just like this,
if that is what pleases you.

Suddenly,
I can't remember
where we're walking to.

My eyes snap open to the
reflection of a girl in a flannel,
realizing that my hand
feels strangely cold.