The Endless Timbre

In the delta fade of the seasoned spring morning
The golden timbre finds a morning shade
The wind's aria touches the lost blue sky
A mirrored scar cloud evanesces from the stolid blue-gray surface
Bare-skin disappears to the ivory nape of her neck
Oh, to follow into the those lurid pools
What a staccato shock of Divinty!
Those slight ripples, embrocations for this algid soul
Death's legerity, beleaguered with porcelain touch of velvet lips
The Blue Iris falls to the ground
The Auburn frowns disappear in bloom
Autumns timbre begins anew

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