Betwixt mine eyes I see her.
An effervescent cloud of mournful blues & grays.
Between my lips I taste her.
Cold, crisp, cuckolded kisses filled with decisive disdain.
Behold my hands I touch her.
Malleable rotted dirt-blackened smudges,
With which to paint upon her stone.
Be still my mind I hear her.
Cooing softly into the bosom of my temple.
Bemoan my heart I know her.
Be staid my body I need her.
Benign, malevolent waves of white winter pass.
Crushed cudgels of spring’s wet buds
Cry out in dew-dropped agony.
How you, Dear Autumn, have declared her dead.
Eclipsed by the shadow of your callous sky,
She withers upon my gaze.
Left with only you, Dear Autumn,
I am resigned to go to the ends of the earth
And wander along my mind-path’s dreary plain.
Be kind, Dear Autumn.
For I have gone to the place beyond the sun dried willow’s leaf,
I have wished that your sky’s dank shadows
Descend onto my eyes’ watery orifices once more.
Please…do not leave me out to dry.
Laura is a freelance writer hailing from Buffalo, NY. Having lived in places such as Russia, Africa, and Alaska, she loves truly original short fiction, poetry, and pretty much anything to do with fantasy and adventure in foreign lands. Hoping to one day soon publish her first novel, Laura spends her time not writing making independent films, acting & singing in theater, and enjoying all the delicious restaurants NYC has to offer. You can contact her for any and all of your writing needs at firstname.lastname@example.org and on Instagram