Autumn, drying leaves, fallen apples rotting underfoot, sullen teens attending to bitter, underloved instructors. The horses at their paces, steamed breath pressed out from heated tunnels into colder air, like a dying dragon's last smoke flowing from within buried caverns. This bitter liver, swollen, the dull right ache. Lager and cider - wet blankets for burying hope. Into this forever fall - crooked fingers, bent like empty branches, to your empty shoulder - It is so easy to forget how intimacy fled, and hid amidst the mountains overhead.