In the folds of October's sapphire pleated skirt runs an archived tale of us, In zig zags of cave paintings, fanning wide like a peacock's feather, immortalized on red spit charcoal and mud, And God knows then, I had an unfettered wing for a limb, and an unhooked spine unrushed, gliding in sync with you on the dreamy lush of a twilight embracing an ember studded sky.
Autumn is as much a passing dream as Winter is an uninvited guest sipping on black dregs of melancholia and regrets, Burying hand stitched leaves of our psychedelic love in alien sheets of ice and frost. When the snow seeps into the roof of my naked shoulders, your furlough goodbyes that lodges deep into the doorknob of my heart, fester and wounds, like bullets fired point blank and the holler of a moribund echo recants.
I sit bereft of words now, And from the casket of ancient yesteryear's flutters the forgotten wings of an unweighed heart, waiting for the stroke of your thumb on my eyebrows and let loose my frowns into smiles. I sit bereft of words now, Waiting for the familiar touch of your warm hands to turn the doorknobs and usher the gold of Autumn in. I have never said it loud, never once in words, But God knows, the world was kinder when I had you by my side Then, I had lesser scars to sew.