She is an Autumn-Song

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she is a brunette,
her cinnamon mane a poetry
writ in burgundy waves,
her desires wilted
and withered like foliage
burnished and bronzed.

her whimsy is
like echo of rain
on pedestrian trails,
her words are graffiti lines
penned in versatile crayons
of russet, tangerine, gold
in abstract whispers
frozen on leafage moments.

her moods are musicality
of a violin’s strain,
sweet like gulps of apple cider,
scented in potpourri dreams,
strung like raindrop pearls
into a fluid symphony,
pulsations of fragile arteries
reverberating with
the melody of strummed violins.

she is spun in sunshine pastels
borrowed from dusky skies
splashed in flowing flames,
in her eyes floats sorrow
of trees ravaged by fall,
their arms left empty of rustles
she is wrapped in solitude
a silent serenade
trickling in treacle syllables
on parched cobblestones
of a mellow september
standing with palms spread
to benevolent turquoise
for benediction…

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4 thoughts on “She is an Autumn-Song

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