September 26, 2014

eating after midnight turns me into one of those...

photo by Edward Rinaldi

Autumn is a digestible velvet-beauty

she peers into every observable death
she is always waiting for it
what is your scent, she asks
will you frame your dreams of me
what of my raptures, will you peel them open
will you sleep tuck me away inside your loamy seams

I am mist and decay, she says stirring into sound
I am what sweeps through the trees, after midnight
I am the sweetest dark before the tilt of October
I am who cries herself to sleep
I am who bleeds in whispers
I am what sugar coats the long knives of Winter