Drawing To A Close (Poetry)

What is there now to talk about but love?
the season’s set for changing, as are we
all things unsettled as the sky above
pencils grey — shades in mortality

A pale sun tries to soothe with brief goodbyes
that lingering of warmth that couldn’t last
hot summer’s kiss undone by autumn sighs
the passion gone — diffused — its fire long-past

We’re like the trees stood waiting for their turn
a patient queue that shuffles life along
their sap has slowed, our blood has ceased to burn
the subtle reek of rot now grown more strong

Chill nights draw close — we share things we regret
Then, shivering, declare we’re not done yet