My autumn leaves a trace
of cravings.
How nice
to watch them plonk
their bubbly blues.
There bitter
meets the nagging,
Namely,
Grey collides
with crimson spleen
of sour overdues.
I treat them all
As seasonal and timely.
It's cool to feel
what is corrupt
in their shallow kinds.
There nastiest are marked
between the lines of mildly
put regrets
as looming shades
Of glasses oozing wine.
It all has been at least concerning
But never even eaten me
a while.
To me
there's no such thing
as tables turning.
To you
it may as well seem only
a breath of wind.
Mar 3, 2020
Mar 3, 2020 at 1:43 PM UTC
My autumn leaves a trace
of cravings.
How nice
to watch them plonk
their bubbly blues.
There bitter
meets the nagging,
Namely,
Grey collides
with crimson spleen
of sour overdues.
I treat them all
As seasonal and timely.
It's cool to feel
what is corrupt
in their shallow kinds.
There nastiest are marked
between the lines of mildly
put regrets
as looming shades
Of glasses oozing wine.
It all has been at least concerning
But never even eaten me
a while.
To me
there's no such thing
as tables turning.
To you
it may as well seem only
a breath of wind.