She is a feather against my tensed skin

The unconscious tremor that courses through me from unfamiliarity,

The touch that allows me to unclench my jaw,

As all my muscles relax and turn to sludge.

The sludge just above the rain drain on a busy street in the city,

Where I am only more liquified by cars running back and forth.

I am unable to escape, because the dead and brown leaves of fall 

Have frozen and created a blanket trapping me from my means of leaving,

She is the break in traffic I have been craving,

The longer ephemeral stop in time that allows me to break down

From snow, to sleet, to sludge, to water

To fit through the iron bars, past the leaves,

Retreating to the tunnels from where I had been left off

To the ocean, to the sky, to the vapor that covers your cities,

The fog and condensation on your windows, 

The simultaneous rain and snow, being a few degrees away from cold,

But not enough to keep an even temperament, 

 I feel guilt.