A Couple, Two, Tree

I have a hunch that we're gonna die young

And grow old together in the next few years

I'd like to reclaim my accent, reinstate "henna"

Henna like "ain't it," henna interjecting Scranton

At the end of an otherwise placeless phrase.

The world's a wild thing, henna? Up here it's

Thrashing on it's axis and youse can't tell me

Youse have ever been colder, after spending 

Summer splayed on cotton sheets simmering.

I can see my breath for blocks now. Hanging.

I picture us on the porch in 20 years or this one

Ruminating on how short the autumn is here.

On how short everything always was.