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To Dallas Spires's previous piece

September to January
 
I’ve seen you,
all bone and hard angles,
black eyes and thin lips,
hair all the colors of autumn;
 
Sunken cheeks staring at me
past all the old faces, the aged molds,
past barren trees, over dead grass,
from the shadow space where music is made.
 
You blew a kiss,
and it was cold for days,
breath like cigarette smoke
and fallen leaves, blue jeans
and long sleeves;
 
I’ve never held you,
but I know your arms,
sharp and strong,
holding me long winter nights.

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