Copper Beauty

She stares blankly out an open window
the wind thrives inside her molasses ringlets, pulls and springs back
cool wind on her face turns clotted cream skin and thin wrinkled eyelids towards the source
For she smells the Autumn

He says something that tickles and the hand lifts off the chin slender fingers poised
mirth echoes on the shape of her heart-filled strawberry lips
until the laughter fades to death from the periwinkle fabric of her thoughts,
soon she is alive again
For she smells the Autumn

And then it's gone with the ghosts of clothespins and soft embraces
just a whisper on the inkblot of a cracked, antique page
supernova of the stars bursts from a place words can't capture to eclipse the sky
He rips her image from the picture
to drown in the copper of metallic beauty,
rich and thick, it burns fire across his tender canvas
discolorations on the spoiled sour clotted cream of yesterday

Only an imprint of lost sins on structures built from skeletons
the stench of a thousand suns caught in the empty spaces of her lungs
rumbles crash and thunder against the thin confines of her bemused fortress
Must everything have further meaning?
perhaps he didn't love her,
Next shall we look a the symbol of a flower's dove?
rotting olive branches left to wither against the magnificence of an explosion
colors bleed against one another like the impossible promise of a scratched symphony
And now she doesn't know the season...
he broke her

Trapped in the memory of raging elements,
tossed violently upon the shattered windowpanes of a safe haven stolen by her demons
Autumn is over.
A tear trickles down clear new silk as she remembers a coiled wafting
the last scapegoat they have to offer
a thorn confused for blossom

She is sprung