Scented Leaves

Crisp ... You lay like solemn ashes 'Neath glass ... spotless, sacred Dried to bright hues ... The shades of her lips in chill autumn air (Winter, whisp'ring soft) Edges crimped ... Like the hems of her pleated tartan skirt You are the vestige, precious Of a moment ... A final moment of love, true Sweaty, sweet passion That found its confluence under a vault of fire A canopy of crumbling crimson Wafting, weaving a rustling woodland blanket The bed for a callow curiosity Confusing, carnal, but perfectly imperfect Numberless months have yet ceded to the wind (As tender as the moons they bind) Since I rescued you from the hood of a sweatshirt Still, your color is unerring And your scent is ... Her. ~ 1st Place ~ in the "Strand no 780, Any Theme, Any Form" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor. ~ 1st Place ~ in the "Strand Select V Any Form Any Theme" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Judge & Sponsor. ~ 1st Place ~ in the "Writing Challenge - December - Any Poem NA'd In November 2019" Poetry Contest, Dear Heart - Wishkobi Ode, Judge & Sponsor. ( This poem was written on November 14, 2019, and N/A'd on November 22, 2019 in the Scented Leaves Poetry Contest )