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I grow tired of Summer's
advances: heat and color,
flexing muscles
and thrusting hips. Give me
Autumn-- the musky sex
of season change,
wood-smoke and leaves just
starting to rot, bitter apple
bark in your hair, a lover
that slides a slick pumpkin
tongue between your teeth
and folds a sweater around
your shoulders. Give me
brisk dusk walks in
the near-chill, the damp
sponge of the earth,
absurdly blue sky.
Fields of leggy thin women
with hair like silk, all
bending together at a
turn in the breeze.