Oct 05
Yellow Sweater's picture


Autumn smells like decay and release.  
Rotting blackberries  
and moldy leaves.
The spicy smell of the dying.  

The fog is wide. 

The wet air is wrapped around autumn
and its fire.
We run through the grass,
caught on spider webs 
and tiny sad smiles.  

There is a warmth under this cold. 

I pull off my coat.
And peel my sweater from my skin.
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