We could blame it on the alcohol;
Instead, let me blame it on the way
your laugh wrinkles the skin around your eyes
and makes my eyes flirt with blushed cheeks.
What about how your hair falls on autumn
and dissolves into cinnamon down your back?
Stronger men than I have collapsed, exhausted,
after running fingers through your seasons,
and becoming stranded with only their rough hands,
I think the blame rests solely on uneven shoulders,
somewhere between wool sweaters and freckles.