POEM 59

October sighs
a slight breeze
that whispers goose bumps on my skin
as you walk beside me
and hold my hand.
^^^
But, I must say,
I’m not an Autumn wind,
I am the sky.
Nor am I a harvest moon,
I am the night
that comforts you with star light.
I am not a dragon slayer
but I breathe the fires of hope,
and whisper Quixotesque dreams
of sweet surrender nights.
^^^
And I ask,
will you join me
in succulent October sighs.

Aztec Warrior 9.26.15