dried cornstalks,
and cotton
spider webs
decorate windows and
houses, while
orange leaves
lay wet on
cold sidewalks and
damp earth.
Vapors from my breath
appear in the air
of the late
October weather
as I walk
through neighborhoods
and quiet streets
to the coffee shop
at the corner
of Maple and Birch,
my hands—hidden
deep in the pockets
of my coat.
At the coffee shop,
I see her, my lover,
fiancé,
however you wish
to call it,
and we sit
at a table
drinking lattes and talking
about our day
without a care
in the world.
