On the cusp,
heat on heat on heat
breaking to snot ridden storms
and hoarse, blasted throats

the following cold front
isn’t ideal
but in its heavy blue resolve
lowered pressure leads
to a duvet covered peace

September heat to melt the
sealing wax, closing off summer
as grasses, golden as they die
still whisper with insect thought

the trees reply in kind
though the greying of their temples
can’t be hidden
reminding of the irresistible slide
to winter’s wide silences

Commute recommenced,
the verges rekindled their
annual morning conversations,
heard twenty times

As my muscle memory drove,
I sought the last red comments
of poppy heads cheering,
but the long, dry grasses
sounded familiar tired whispers
that threatened to drown

I could allow them to dictate the script
of another season,
clichés so often spoken
as to be silence

but I can still hear
the poppy red
I hear the poppy red

I know the autumn is waiting,
pensive to embrace the loss of heat,
sweats moving on to other climes
where they’re understood

I hold til the skeleton of winter
can be seen and read
by my fingers on the sorry bones
that please me, alone

@First Movement

Flash blue, breezes and gentle touches where he is her favourite dancer.
Twitchy tickly itchy movement, likewise violin trembled string
Autumn arrives with butterfly wings. He is a dancer. Fainted @

Noon sun ray. He says “Hi… Give me a Five”
Shine or silver, day to day. It all turns to grey.

@Second Movement

Life in a day where there are knots in every skein. The moment of whispering
And the surprise gifts of the Year. Look. Rains and showers flushed into her skirt.
Autumn lands with a giant painting brush. She is a painter. Arrayed in

Gold and red, twirling canvas panels with leaves upon her ankles.
Their intense autumnal melancholy embittered

@Third Movement

life wonders’ bedroom window. Of oscillating thread
that winds between the living and the living we thought were dead.

Autumn falls with hymn choral from spider’s web. He and she reunions
Soul to soul, pole to pole with blesses with increase and life,
They are gross and simple creatures, jointly servant of the Will.

loving you just like 𝒔𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒔.

I walk into your garden,
all of the flowers are blooming,
butterflies come alive.
it's so breathtaking just your face,
wind kisses my face and makes my heart blooms
and it's the feeling of 𝒔𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈.

when we hit together,
I can feel your warm breath
just like sun in the summer,
kissing my skin.
I'm melting when I look into your eyes
and it's the feeling of 𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒓.

dried leaves fall everyday
just like my heart can't stop beating for you.
all I can see is brown and orange and yellow leaves.
even though I can't find the green leaves
but I still have you in my world
and it's the feeling of 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒖𝒎𝒏.

it's cold outside,
but your smile warms my heart
and burns the heat of my body.
everything is white,
feeling cold wind blows towards us.
and yeah, it's the Christmas season.
the 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓 season,
the season I walk into your winter wonderland.

The impulse of summer waning
sends an annual, yet always forgotten shift,
the hedgerows and fields conspire
to rewrite the scent enough
so the mind wanders to open fires
and comfort food
even though the sun still beats
scant weeks away we’ll swaddle