Beautiful
is the auburn fire etched across fall
skyline- spiraling downward with every tantalizing shake
of the wind.
Every angel's breath sending dying wishing weeds
to fly across; under noses; tangled wildly in hair.
And when the pink sun kisses the horizon farewell.
Not with that of passion, but with mismatched lies,
as being soon she finds her way
to next ground far and even farther away.
It is the color of eyes.
Primary shades of astrological star hunted eloquence sewn together
sideways with whitewash prescription pills.
Beautiful is the way
cancer bleeds grey ribbons curled
around winter ravished lips.