Indian SummerHe sighs and breathes autumn on her lips,
late Indian summer still caressing
smooth and softly tanned cheeks,
while she collects sour sloes
that prick at conscience and land
in corona bottles mixed with gin.
He’ll catch the falling apples
discarding those with wasp stings
and gift an apron full of love.
Children gather berries to steep their juice
in muslin cloths above a creamy bowl
straining at the bounds that so contain.
An imprint of ripe berry juice as breaths
mingle on cold mornings, she snuggles
deeper into sleep and dreams of yesterday.
Poetry by Elle
Read 341 times
Written on 2015-09-25 at 14:18
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