Of Pumpkin Spice


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.

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2 thoughts on “Of Pumpkin Spice

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