Windows closed.
Sealed up.
No more summer air
to filter between meshed screen
waking me by licking my face.
Autumn knocks.
Raps on the glass pane.
Sorry bitter breath.
You can’t come in to chill me
and raise my skin.
Let me in!
Stoke the furnace!
I beg of you,
wake and smell the colored leaves
and porch pumpkins.
Not now,
later when the sun rises.
I will throw open the windows,
and gladly beckon you in.
I accept your fall footsteps across my floor.
Because soon,
crystals will take your place.
Winter white fingers will scratch the glass.
It will not want in,
It only taunts and knows it’s not welcome.
Sealed up.
No more summer air
to filter between meshed screen
waking me by licking my face.
Autumn knocks.
Raps on the glass pane.
Sorry bitter breath.
You can’t come in to chill me
and raise my skin.
Let me in!
Stoke the furnace!
I beg of you,
wake and smell the colored leaves
and porch pumpkins.
Not now,
later when the sun rises.
I will throw open the windows,
and gladly beckon you in.
I accept your fall footsteps across my floor.
Because soon,
crystals will take your place.
Winter white fingers will scratch the glass.
It will not want in,
It only taunts and knows it’s not welcome.
