October, old sport, you are handsome for your age, with your receding hairline and sandalwood scent. The days of summer now spent, you are winter bent, warm and cozy in your colorful sweaters, brick chimney for a pipe. With a reminiscent breeze, turn the blushing pages of your trees. Tell me a story. Your windswept magic swirls with secrets.
I think of love's decay. The one who got away. The memory of a final kiss ferments in my mind with a brown leaf sweetness. The wetness of her mouth was like harvest wine, her searching tongue sur lie. Smooth, full bodied, complex. Decanter of my purple soul.
I miss her so much.
Mourn with me, wind. Whisper into my ear what I already know in my heart to be true. I will write it down.
Things are changing. Things have changed. This is a changing season. I am changed.
On this dragonfly night. Where thousands are swarming over the cattail pond. A visitation supposedly a spiritual sign of transformation, adaptation, and self-realization. While my dog is swimming under the bright mirror moon, splashing in a pink lagoon, just after sunset. His Snoopy silhouette makes me laugh. Halloween is coming. The Red Baron flies again.
I'm on my back. Arms folded behind my head. The stars above are silver BB draggees on altocumulis Christmas cookies, pearl noses buttoned to vanilla frosting smiley faces.
Hold my hand again, spirit girl. This moment was made for us.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem