There was a blowsy November song, the trees whistling a high B as we
walked over the patheticness of dead leaves.
The scarf was snaked-wrapped round your neck and the wind
froze an ice glittering smile on your face.
It froze everything, from my fingers to this memory.
You skipped to me, grabbed my hand as we passed
drizzling grey buildings.
I could feel the cold climbing through my body and all I wanted to do was
press you ever closer and feel your breath against my cheek while
the trees kept on whilstling a high B for the November song.