Scented Leaves
Crisp ...
You lay like solemn ashes
'Neath glass ... spotless, sacred
Dried to bright hues ...
The shades of her lips in chill autumn air
(Winter, whisp'ring soft)
Edges crimped ...
Like the hems of her pleated tartan skirt
You are the vestige, precious
Of a moment ...
A final moment of love, true
Sweaty, sweet passion
That found its confluence under a vault of fire
A canopy of crumbling crimson
Wafting, weaving a rustling woodland blanket
The bed for a callow curiosity
Confusing, carnal, but perfectly imperfect
Numberless months have yet ceded to the wind
(As tender as the moons they bind)
Since I rescued you from the hood of a sweatshirt
Still, your color is unerring
And your scent is ...
Her.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Strand no 780, Any Theme, Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Strand Select V Any Form Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Writing Challenge - December - Any Poem NA'd In November 2019" Poetry Contest, Dear Heart - Wishkobi Ode, Judge & Sponsor.
( This poem was written on November 14, 2019, and N/A'd on November 22, 2019 in the Scented Leaves Poetry Contest )
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