The brown strength of roots
and the decadence of ripeness
fall full against the golden arms
that strain to hold the southing sun
above the grasp of shadows.
The mellow scent of pears and melons
are sharp & brass & sad as bedrooms
when the light and passions pass;
I kiss my lips and close the drapes
and sigh myself a welcome.
Steven Silent Wolf
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/september-16/
