Autumn leaves on summer trees,
Grazing each tip;
Reaching, howling at the sun.
Burning bright, glowing as hell fire.
They call to me.
Tell me seasons are changing.
You're fingers on my skin feel the same.
A Canary yellow hue,
Crested crimson.
Why do I still think of you?
The wind whips me into sanity;
It reminds me how my lungs mimic the ocean.
The gentle wavy reside,
sound of foam against the sand,
It reminds me how I am.
