Another month, I love you:
those herringbone eyes,
those winks of lace
that stutter the sky and beguile.
I was all in your palms then,
held fast and humid,
perched on a breath,
on your low-hilled lips.
But I was green then and letched,
inept to your thirty one forms of love,
adept at drinking in your thirty one dews,
giving nothing at all. And you left.
And now, now I wed November,
naked as a limb, gather the trees,
undanced, unpulsed, nonplussed
that I may not utter a summer’s name.
Image: Siora Photography on Unsplash
Sweet and Bitter Greens 
Excellent piece Devon! I’d like to see one of those each month! The last verse is particularly exqusisite with the last line bearing it to the level of timeless poetry. Kudos my friend!
Mae
Thank you, Mae. It is great to hear from you. I like your idea – make each month a lover. Thank you for the prompt…and looking forward to “Wednesday” hint hint.
D
Aha, I thought you might! Hint, hint taken! I’m working on it! Soon my friend!
Mae