Come Autumn, without turning I kiss the night, the maladroit and send him away

And now you inquire about the nature of my heart
now, after extracting its nectar
and bestowing emptiness once more along rugged edges
and oval pores,
the liquid amber which you drink of is nothing short
of essence,

urging Autumn awake from deepest slumber
this maladroit handling of the affair has left me in pieces,
brought about memories of poems written with sweet salt
of your tongue,
I choose every word with utmost care so that you know ache
without confusion or misunderstanding.

 

 

Photo credits: Flickr

Posted for “Midweek Motif” @ Poets united

Posted on weekend Challenge @ Real Toads