Fall Noon Friday

I sit there, here, waiting for hours
With rustling blood-gold of leaf showers;
Underneath swirling sky-high cools
Day dreamt around murky pools.
Feeding from memory, my many late meals:
Her harrowing eyes, with fire of burning fields.
Taking me deep as all glad weights
Better to sink by soul and not fate.

Buds of color huddle each of them coupled
Though evenly tied (and her thoughts are troubled.)

Why melt and strong at her bare, sweet mouth
That whispers with the softness of England’s moth.
And I still lie here, wait pressed to her bosom
Letting her guide toward the blushed late blossom.

Two people in youth where one is above
The other all purple and both tempting love.

Sun-play dabbles dance, kissing her face
While she kisses my hands in that rare place.
“You’ve always each other,” the single day sang.
The perfumed air urged, “Breathe much as you can.”

But my memory’s wakened by gentle-sad tugs
Of two more who tried, though not unlike us.
They seemed not to notice in all their room
They were yet untinged by silvery gloom
Of winter’s upcoming; welcomed by some
But a season of pain for those who won’t warm.
It was themselves they iced with splinters of doubt
(Needlessly, yes) ‘til every swollen shout
Convinced them, misled, of better untried.
So on that precious lost day,

They lay down and they died.