Autumn
Because I never write myself soft.
The soft damp hair on my pillow
smells of cinnamon and nutmeg.
There is gently falling snow in my soul,
soft firelight in my mind.
I'm in a Hallmark movie frame of mind.
My long smooth legs languid,
brush flannel sheets.
Creamy mint green silk
flatters my form,
forgiving in all the right places.
I am floating on a perfect balance
of George Winston and Charles Dickens.
My flaming eyes burn low tonight
gentle embers grace a peaceful smile.
The chill has made me warm.
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