I pressed myself into your cover,
and sewed to it a piece of now.
Falling like the leaves outside,
I fall to you, longing the rich purple
paint. Your signature of our time
you were mine, and mine alone.
There was no kiss hello, goodbye –
Your thumb is tucked under fingers
with each stroke the knuckles brush.
Will you keep me here and hang me
for all your canvases to be warned.