September is doing its best to ease us in.
The clouded sky is a whiteboard for helpful diagrams,
the first cool air as welcome as your hand inside my jeans.
Busy autumn zips round with its orange highlighter
and you provide tiny shocks and marshmallows,
leaving pornographic Post-its that ask me to rendezvous,
please, for hot chocolate. I am the type of man
who likes unnecessary displays of manners,
who appreciates thank you cards, warning signs,
a forest of regretful notices for building works.
I admire rows of ginkgos that lose all their foliage
in one drop to form a Yellow Brick Road.
I am a desperate Lion today, stalking Scarecrow.
I chew biros, glimpse at my watch too often. I was so afraid
of being late to see you once, I turned up six days early.
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