objects in mirror are closer than they appear

whiskey heartbeats 

and birds flying in patterns 

         xo, accept 

not all are flying south

midnight rivers

and warm misted skin 

your kisses chill the breeze 

of September 

highways are highways 

until you reach your exit 

then hills become mountains 

and rivers 

         are deep in between 

I can never wash the smell of September 

out of my hair 

and your whiskey lives on my lips 

as an after taste for when the missing

becomes too hard 

the birds go where they 

are called

and the sun sets on my skin 

that only sees you 

in the rearview