AUTUMN

The room is filled with the scent

of chrysanthemums. The

wallpaper is brown and gold

and purple the old bed.

Beside me a woman she is

blissfully in intoxicating

naked. Her breath a blurred  

window is in the curtains.

The air tastes like bitter

wine new inscrutable as

mushrooms one night. The lure

of autumn, when they spun

silver wires between me

and eternity vanquished

wasteland measurably to

her lips meats. It is good

at this time to sample

the bottom of the wealth

of autumn as a greenhouse

plants under glass.

Thierry Deleu