"leaves of three, let it be"

was one of the first things I learned as a child of the backyard and woods yet our bond has remained through the decades, the lure of the smiling foliage, delicate fragility the con as it breaths into the air to catch me

once a year every year through my teens once every seven thereafter, ivy waits for a wedding, vacation, big date, and finds me by conning by hiding by smoke

it comes again soon, I can feel its itch on my palms