The Weather Blows You Here

I wish I could photograph sound, and hear a memory and trap the wind and feel its remorse.
I love nights like tonight when the earth gets mad at us, flailing us around like straggling leaves on trees trembling in embarrassment at their naked displays.
The cold season blows you my way. I thought you would be done with that pig by now, feeding you drugs to make you stay, controlling your every fucking move and monitoring your correspondence. Makes me feel foolish for ever allowing you to talk to her. I took you for a man strong enough to make his own decisions.
It frustrates me to look at your picture and reach out to touch nothing.