The leaves were slow to fall this year
They seemed to slip so reluctantly
Only giving in to winter's progress
With a slow winded sigh across days

I measure the time by our crossings
You are a fixed point amongst the slipstream
The x of paths crossing and so much more-
Laughter, eyes, a raised brow, the inexorable
Curve of moments towards one another

We will wait for this gravity
To string at its own pace
Because we know it has its own
Inevitability attached to our fingertips
Trailing the air like a leaf to the ground