No Title

by Ellis

Lyrically dressed, she
counterbalances the
wind's best
effortless guess to
beat my chest
around
the trees, as I'm
swept into a storm of leaves,
yellow and green and red as
beets, the pelting
sting of withered seeds
staining my sleeves; the
cool, nostalgic scent of
this nor'easter breeze
carrying my request for
her hand, a muffled "please" and
she deeply breathes,
smiles, blond,
relieved her
mittened paw in
mine, our
summer mercifully
deceased as, laughing, another
candlelit dust we retrieve...