Autumn

To experiance morning’s first breeze.
To open your lids to something amber and appeasing leaves.
To roll over, against a three dimensional creature.
To entwine in sheets with feet feelers.
To smile before a thought warns you to.
To sit up in bed, twist and pop every vertebrae, up to your goosebumps.
To look at you and leave the bed knowing I’ll be back,
Is something I can’t ever get used to.
I can not grow comfortable with.
Cannot see myself being middling with.
For I think the most romantic situations are new ones.
If I vamp my mind to think every morning is new,
Then honey, I cannot ever get used to you.