Take Me Autumn

The last raspberries of autumn

drip with blood,

sing in my bones

as sweetly as the squeal of

the violin bow on string.

Dark chocolate and clementines

are decadent for me,

rich as maple sap

that’s been boiled and boiled

until there’s nothing left but burnt sweet.

Pumpkins are ripe for me

the way my breasts are ripe for

my boyfriend as he

runs hand over pearled mound

again and again and again.

Cat fur is soft as cold-Saturday morning kisses

when there’s nothing to do but lie in

bed,

stroking skin and listening to heart beats.

The bareness of a November birch

strikes me

the way an ovulation cramp pinches,

such beautiful violence.

The skin of the molasses chestnut is

smooth as glass,

flesh like a chicken,

and when it fills my mouth

I have eaten autumn whole,

consumed her fruits greedily,

on fire with my appetite.

Nutmeg, cloves, cinnamon,

allspice, ginger, cocoa and cardamom

sizzle my nostrils sumptuously

leave my skin hot underneath,

whetted for barefoot-midnight dances,

winds that breathe moist and fresh

as dog’s breathe.

Out with the green,

in with the scarlet,

witches dance,

cauldrons brew with turkey soup,

buttered scones on the table,

all the roses stop blooming

and the wind teases with snow on its tip.

But I am here,

ready,

take me Autumn,

take me

and let me burn the way

your leaves burn,

let me bleed

the way your raspberries bleed

and let me dance the night away

barefoot in your courtyard

of dying trees.