Leaves

Your words,
Throwaway to you
Like Octobers' dry leaves
Their harsh colours appraise you.
Do you realise?
How they stick to me,
wrap themselves tight
to mould an ill-fitting skin.
It takes a lot to remove
even a single dead leaf.
And as its dust drifts away
Still the imprints of veins
Remain, like iron bars,
Filtering sunlight into chinks and dapples
And I wonder if,
in given time,
your used words will complete my form
Then in fragmented, covered,
Stuffy darkness
I too will wilt and dry
Until I am ready to fall
And escape in the flurry of air
Of your next breath.