The leaves cling onto their branches the way my fingers grab hold of you
when we watch movies with scenes that make my brown eyes close tightly –
the same way the book shuts suddenly when you’re finished holding it open, when you’re done devouring its words, and I think about the way your lips read out sentences from closed books like staggering memories,
like drops of rain falling long after the pour in a trail of trickling droplets like when you leave the faucet on and I think how I smile at the falling water because it lands on my skin like little surprises, like reminders that I don’t always need to run dry like the desert
– and the leaves are letting go now and I wish I could too.