drunk butterfly

Caramel skies slumber above
Amber leaves.
October bleeds into November together with
You and me.
On mornings like this I wander into our cable car down Hyde —
Smiling profusely
You’re sitting beside.
There are no planes to meet, no tickets to board
Just us
Ten weeks
And long walks in damp fog.
Up hills of States
Down crooked stairs of paved streams
You grab my fingers and pull tight into me —
“Your face, it’s perfect”
I feel I could cry.
And I awake to find you in December.