Autumn breathes through the trees, their limbs shaken of their foliage
that now lays sprawled on the ground in a brilliant sunset blanket
of crinkling orange, yellow and red.
Soft, your hand in mine, a gentle warmth to stay the chill of winter
which flushes cheeks with rosy paint, unless perchance it be
your lips, too, are soft and warm.
The melancholy fingers of the trees reach towards the sky covered
with their pastel gloves, that are unraveling and challenging
the sunset’s undefeated beauty.
A fresh calm before the storm perfumes the air wrapped in
subtle ambrosial and sensual hues that encapsulate
to hunger and tease my patience.
Against the backdrop of cycling grace, entwined in divine comfort,
mirrors of pumpkin spice whisper of wishes to come
while the kaleidoscope infinitely turns.