Crisply cool

teeth sliding into
an almost ripe green apple
The rush of sour sweet

honking faintly
distant v against blue sky
forecasts winter

along the wood’s path
our feet trampling crisply
curled yellow-orange leaves

speaking in hushed tones
breath curls frostily from mouths
mingles as we kiss

smoke from burning leaves
your nose cold against my cheek
my hand warm in yours

1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. billgncs
    Oct 03, 2012 @ 04:07:25

    very nice

    Reply

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