December of Reddened Leaves.

You could call it only a ray of sunshine,

You could, I would only ever suppose.

Most would only suppose simple light.

I felt your smile within eloquent prose.

~

Your dance of weariness remains so faint

As I still glare towards your unfaithful eyes.

Most would only dance in shades of grey.

I felt your terror forming endless lies.

~
You could call it only a reddened leaf,

You could, I would only such remember.

Most would only remember the sun.

I felt your distance of that one December.

~

Your song of trespassed hearts sings so heavy

As you continue melodies through snow.

Most would only sing of the emptiness.

I felt your warmth what feels long ago.

~

You could call it only a drop of rain,

You could, I would only begin of a dream.

Most would only dream of cruel pretentions.

I felt your kiss, or so it may seem.

~

Your painting of despair speaks of our truth

As I draw through your untouchable face.

Most would only paint of perfection.

I felt your sanity to always chase.

~

You could call it only blooming flowers,

You could, I would only hope in romance.

Most would only hope within thse blossoms.

I felt your faith only begin to dance.

~

Your script of scribbled bliss returns once more

As you write of such a wandering journey.

Most would only paraphrase elegance.

I felt your beauty with a solid yearning.