Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Silvana Franco Oct 2017
The night is soft and billowy,
Beckoning me deeper into her velvet embrace.  
The dark air caresses me,
Like a smooth, silken hand stroking my face.

The breeze carries with it the scent of autumn;
decaying leaves, campfire smoke, pumpkin spice and pine needles.
A heady cocktail that rouses something in me that no other season can.

This, is my favourite time of year.

The bare trees, colourful leaves and crisp breeze soothe my mind.

The long nights of candlelight and incense soothe my soul.

Draped in moonlight and watched over by the stars,
I drink the wine of ancient Roman nights,
of sacred pagan rites,
of owls' sleepless flights,
of lustful lovers' bites,
That dark and warm midwinter wine.

And it is here

As I lie naked beneath the gentle gaze of the moon,
Vulnerable and exposed,
Innocent and joyful,
With child-like wonder at the beauty that surrounds and encompasses me,
Sipping the crimson nectar of the gods,

That I feel whole.
Swords and Roses Nov 2015
he plucks orange leaves
orange is his favourite shade
rain seeps through the soil
harvest brings food aplenty
flavours: pumpkin, cinnamon
Jennifer Louise Oct 2014
Their hallow heads hold fire after being carved by kids. I wonder how they do that, gouge a gourd for human fests. I bring them water every day, until they grow with might, these now seedless pumpkins that glow all through the night. They say they scare the ghosts away but none yet have I seen except the ones of the rotted skeletons that were once these.

— The End —