It is the season for new buds and blossoms,
For a Mirabelle plum tree that blooms
Attracting bees that hum like softly rolling thunder
What a bright, white and scented wonder!

Body forwarding through the sky
Borders formidably tasking to skip
Bonds firmly threatening this shift
Bare feet touching the sand

Eyes puffy and nose clogged,
I have colds, one would conclude
It’s autumn, that’s common
Sorrow is not only my own

Between us,
the root of the combined vertical and horizontal both framed expands,
the quotient as orbit is sliced by permanently infinite grows,
the aftermath of temporal magnitude magnified by velocity widens.

Are you letting me go?

Cream-filled sugary
Chocolate frosting and sprinkles
Cinnamon scented

gloomy sticky air
looming downpour from the sky
anticipating

Charcoal curls, green grounds
Brown branches, sienna shades
On pale paper of cold cotton
An arousing adventure…