A surreal chill exists in southern autumn evenings
missing in the other seasons. The brisk breeze
carries summer’s wishes away with leaves, colors
vary from deep green to crunchy brown. Looming
trees enclose – I ask you to walk through this death
with me, without hesitation you agree.
Wind murmurs with the trees. “I might agree
with love, this time around,” as evening
settles on your blank face. “It is not the death
of love, if time is given.” I smile with the breeze;
“Unless the love is dead.” Darkness looms
with surrounding trees; I fill with leaves’ color.
Leaves crush beneath my feet, the last color
of the sun lingers on my half-smile. To agree
with you would cause difficulty. You loom
over me with questions as dark as the evening.
I coax myself to murmur with the breeze
so my answers are drowned to death.
“This very well could lead back to death,”
I remind you. Our eyes meet, yours the color
of sea-foam. Leaves are scattered with the breeze.
Silence overtakes you before you agree
with a nod. I clasp your hand in the evening’s
light. We walk together, uncertainty looms
over us. Darkness in the shape of trees looms
over my heart. My want for us warns me of death.
“Only if death is our last breath,” you say to the evening.
“Repetition does not necessarily ring truth.” I color
slightly at my words, but you have to agree -
your past has been as stationary as this wintry breeze.
You turn away, “If you mean it, it does.” The breeze
hears you better, your words carried through the looming
branches of decay above us. My heart wishes to agree
with you, knowing all will spark and end in death
anyway. If love is lost time, then all I need is the color
of your eyes and repetition would work this evening.
The breeze around us could very well stop my heart’s death,
your eyes loom over my wariness in a flash of night-blue color.
Pulled by trees and darkness, I agree with you and the evening.

04/21/2012

Posted on 04/22/2012
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