Thus I long to lie in gilded grass.
Memories of green whispering gently beneath
the auburns of ocher and umber woven within your hair
as it falls voiceless and reckless down upon me
that my lips tremble with the kiss
of your autumn’s
Thus speak to me –
In warm wandering whispers
soothingly caressing the bareness of my skin
as I am returned to the ardor of your intimacy’s embrace.
Our very souls locked within climatic reunion
that the pinnacle of our fall
Clouds unfurling –
Wind combing through my hair.
As your touch is seasonably cool and calming
the warmth of your heart lies endearingly upon my breast.
Thus I tenderly caress the reveries of the day
abandoning myself to the solace
I have found in
© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009