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Meet Me When the Apples Fall
I pocket the golden light in my woollen cardigan and whirl the clouds around my neck. Threads of creamy cotton tickle my pointed chin. My hair is softened by summer dew as I juice cherry-red raspberries into my blood. Bang pinned back and sleeves rolled up, I dash towards the sun.
So meet me when the apples fall.
Don’t think, don’t talk.
Just love me.
Meet me when the apples fall.
I have enough sunlight for us both
through the winter’s call.