Caught In The Toils Of Autumn
Hours, days, weeks rustle after;
the amber blizzard rushes after,
throwing dead leaves onto my face.
Caught in the toils of autumn,
Vampire tastes this brandy wind.
The cedar scent. The lump in the throat.
It tastes like heady salt of your skin.
Elixirless again. Why?
It smells like myrrh of your skin.
One needs your heart tonight.
Thursday, October 24, 2013
Topic(s) of this poem: autumn,romance