Autumn is a mistress who wears her luscious locks
of golden hair brushed softly against her siren lips.
Discreetly she comes, unannounced she goes.
She speaks not.  Yet,
A mere glare of her golden hues
and pouting of her flaming reds,
she saturates the color of my heart.

It starts with curves,
half moon curves,
demure reposing curves.
The wind blows; it tickles,
butterfly kisses, the blinking of a doe.
Spring willow rippling dews in her eyes,
the river of life.

A glimpse of her sight
sets a myriad sparkles of sapphire night
for I know she is both day and night
gaze and daze at her never-ending horizon I strive
for the unfathomable depths of her light
there, lies the secret place,
the primordial mystery of a heart's delight,
the gift of life.

Little bud
rosebud
tiny soft and naked
waiting for spring
at times it seemed
you would fit into my hand
with one clasp I encompass
your entire being
and I would smell and taste
your sweet disorienting scent

So stilled my hand
with each breeze and each breath
waited for the perfumed brush
a scented sting on my skin
in an ancient language
I knew it was futile to translate or resist

Passing by
a poised snail without its shell
in a garden where boisterous children play
in a world without a map
a dew drop
I look up
there goes a comet without its tail