in dismal days of almost-gray and latent suns i dream of dapper loves; of thicker arms enveloping my slighter frame and rendering me a child again, an eager-eyed believer in such churlish fancies as nights in white satin or white knights in night satin or even something far simpler (a whispered breath meant solely for my ears; a smile spelling out my name in pearls & stars).

but this is yet-autumn, and i’ve such youth in me still bursting at my golden seams to side-step into despair’s foreplay and give way to sillyhazed daydreams born of darkened hours and snow-strewn silences. that rooms may fill with longer shadows and midnight’s gloved hands may weigh against my chest in days to come, i have no doubt, but then is never now and fret breeds only ragged nails and thinner promises.

i will fall in love with this littered season each day, until it bleeds its last.

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