Harvest Moon.
The night is flushed yet mellow,
soft with the scent of sweet apples and cinnamon.
An antique gold, shimmering of burnished meadows,
sensual as silk on skin bleeds its warmth like red wine.
The whispering seduction of an intimate stranger
in caress of a lover, yet the kiss is a keepsake, a
forget- me- not to remember in the springtime.
When twilight comes the honeyed tones of summer love
will be lost as Harvest Moon slips serenely into
the sunset sky
Sparkling summer dreams lost in the long shadows
of autumn.
The flame dies to a hazy glow as russet hues and spider webs
cover the curled leaves like a veil of goodbyes.
© Stella Armour 2018
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