June reappeared

in October and was followed by a July

that stopped in mid-November, but

the next month and a half was spent waiting

for an August that never returned, until

finally at the end of December a much

quieter September arrived. I should not

have been surprised by such odd seasons.

Not long after you held my hand again

for the first time, I knew that within that year

there would be neither fall nor winter.

The brief and forced pause had turned us

into the cautious and conscious beings

we should have been before when we were

instead fuzzy and idealized expressions

lacking correctly pronounced identities.

Now on the other side I wanted to swear

and you wanted to get drunk. Here I was beautiful

only every other day, and love came around

reluctantly only when we were determined

to forget, and you were lazy and angry and cold

only when you chose to be. It didn't matter

that on this side when you held my hand,

I instinctively held yours tighter when you

wanted to let go. This time it would all be

on your terms.