Old habits

They fell into old habits,
not as pleasant
as falling into
each other’s arms,
older but still mysterious,
familiar
if only in dreams.

We fall where we must,
some select a home,
others are merely
bright red
and yellow leaves in autumn,
familiar
if merely a memory.

Gravity weighs on us all,
tugging us into orbits
cycling through
revolutions,
resolved to find joy in
familiar —
this perfect space.

(C) 2021 Phillip Knight Scott

The prompt at Poets and Storytellers United today is micro-writings: constructing a poem in exactly 69 words. Not an easy task!