My breath; seen in autumn air.
Exhales expressing in a silent hymn
Are choreographed as the season leaves.
Exposed by axis rotation and cold.
Always now, I tell too much truth then fall
Into sleepless slumbers throughout the night…

Must your smile shine at night?
Must your breath be what my lungs crave as air?
Must I, again, infatuate and fall
For a woman who sings another hymn?
‘suppose I’ve grown accustomed to the cold.
My heart speaks: Eyes to tears, as branch to leaves.

Better this way, less she leaves.
And hours gained throughout an endless night.
And quilts, coats, and fire can fight the cold.
And what better breaths than unbridled air?
I digress, because I’ll lose to her hymn,
For when I see her, again I will fall.

…now is when I always fall
Victim to my own words which yells and leaves
My mouth, singing a sentimental hymn,
That will only reach at the depth of night.
My throat swells and chokes these words into air,
Forced to share these lines that will leave me cold.

No. I’d share despite the cold.
For this is love and not just a mere fall.
And these feelings are not a change in air.
They lay strong. Yes! Stable and not what leaves.
With a heart that burns bright against the night.
And three hundred sixty nine breaths a hymn.

And yes! These sounds are my hymn!
No matter if it hot or if it cold.
I will sing in the day or in the night.
And will carry these words until I fall.
or… at least in hope that it never leaves.
That these songs are songs, and not only air.

Of course this hymn suffers fall,
And the cold parallels these autumn leaves.
But for just one night, I’d sacrifice air.

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