They are a haze
Each joining its neighbor
A blur; brown as the coffee
You drink on Monday mornings.
We met in that autumn blur
On a morning only for us
The crisp cold keeping our hands clasped
Together under that colored canopy.
There we were, and being there was
Special; for I saw you reflected
In that place: rose for your soul,
Deep brown, your eyes.
We were glad to be away
From a world of constant complaint
We were content, just us
In a place filled with people, and yet no one at all.
Chapped hands and hot cider
Were not all of which that place consisted
It was warmth, it was love,
And it was you.
