Your Cupid’s bow arched upwards
falls slowly like blossom – pink
the giggle recedes
with my layman’s share.
Divine laughter
Eros, comes to its end;
and Atlas loosens his grip.
You look now upon humility
with one beaded eye –
a seeing stone.
The leaves had begun to fall
outside. Their fiery hues
in the crucible –
frost burnt edges
like skirt brown pages.
Out of the sky a misty rain
and sweet scent –
extant decay in heaps of yellow,
brown, as cork, red,
as summery dusk yawning,
green, as the grass below our feet.
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