There is nothing prettier,
or as calming, you said,
than a cemetery during autumn.
The dying sunlight fading into night
shines through the orange and yellowing leaves
as the days grow colder. The aesthetically pleasing
sight of illusion fire keep hearts warm and
pumping hot blood through the body and beneath
mitten paws. You’re fueled as deep breaths
emit stovepipe exasperation from working overtime.
There’s nothing more elegant,
or as hopeful, I replied with a smile,
as your sitting on that stone bench, and
that’s simply so. Leaves cascade
around you in an intangible globe as slight
breezes flip the ends of your hair. The further I back up
the greater the picture that it is. However, I’m afraid to stray
too far and lose you in the sight of distracting sunlight. It’s
nothing a photo can capture, or the world’s
greatest cinematographer could edit through.
To that I claimed my spot next to you, and our arms
wrapped around each other as the second hand laps
its counterparts, causing a slight shutter. When it was time
to leave, a glare and thicker puffs pushed us upon or feet.
A mile we walked, and it seemed like an eternity back
to the little coffee shop for an herbal remedy. Chamomile
and jasmine, black and cinnamon, ginger and
lemon: it was difficult to make a decision. Upon finally
doing so, we smiled and ventured to challenge outside again.
As our cups did the breathing, scented sighs brought our noses closer.
I play with words and invisible objects.
A mind, a pen and a piece paper have the best relationship ever.
"Remember this--if you shut your mouth, you have your choice."
- F. Scott Fitzgerald