The Fall

Couldn’t meet you in October like we planned
because even though it’s been years
since an airplane delivered you
within miles of my proximity—
and even though our status is just friends,
we both know how easy it would be
for our afternoon visit in the coffee shop
to end up in the red-orange woods
on that familiar trail we liked to take years ago
before we were married to others
and before we knew what kind of mistakes
we were capable of making—
and I know what kind of regret I would be in for
if your green eyes were to linger on the lips
of my uncertainty — my inextinguishable desire
to touch what must remain hidden under buttons
and buckles and layers of memory and time.

DeMaris Gaunt
10-30-16