Fall

I'm in love with the summer
but it's fall now and everything is
dead. I woke up and the sheets next to me
were empty and only shards
of leaves remained. Diamonds of brown
perpetually poking through
pillow slips, puncturing my memories
of trysts filled with
warmth and shine.
Gentle breezes taunt from the cracked window.
I never could sleep when I was too warm
but now the ceiling fan brutalizes like
the pounding of the drum and the crack
of the whip, bidding me to row again
as we cross north towards Iceland; Reykjavik
beckoning from the future
and the winter
dispatching
summer with a stern finger and a look
of disappointment; a spurned lover
giving the last look over the shoulder
before becoming the person
that was wanted.