(Hopeless) Days of Autumn
one of one
The tinge of pumpkin and cider settle on his tongue, he loves the taste of Autumn in his mouth and the feel of the petals on her floral-printed dress. He runs a hand through her hair, strands of henna fall into her beautiful face and Tom tucks them behind her ears while planting kisses on her neck. She giggles and runs her lips along his jawline, he moans quietly and places a hand on the small of her back. Tom pulls away from her neck and smiles at her russet eyes that remind him of Thanksgiving and affluence, she grins and he can't help but unfold and melt into her.
It had been the same routine lately, Tom's love life had become dull and spiritless.
Autumn rolls off and inches under the blankets with Tom's arms wrapped around her, he strokes her cheek and watches her face until she falls asleep. He stays up late until he can hear wolves howling deep within the thicket near Autumn's house because Tom can't seem to get any sleep lately. And when both salacious lovers awake in the morning it's early and the sun has barely made it over the horizon.
"Do you want hash browns?" Autumn whispers.
Tom shifts under the sheets, the brittle air makes him uncomfortable and his hair sticks to his forehead in sweaty wisps. "We had hash browns yesterday for breakfast."
"Oh, I forgot," she sighs. "Do you wanna go to the museum and check out the new conceptual art exhibit?"
"No," he replies while scratching his bare chest. "How about we just lay here and enjoy each others company?"
Autumn silently weeps but does not object, she lets Tom sling his arm around her and pull her in close to the hearth kindling in the center of his rib cage. It's not long before she's in hysterics and her tears seep through the bedspread and saliva dribbles from her small mouth and the sun, the clouds, and the neighbors can hear her heart grieving. Tom pulls a sketchpad into his hands along with a piece of charcoal and depicts the scene outside of the window. He's gotten used to liking the blues and the lamentation, so quite frankly, he doesn't care about the broken girl beside him.
"Go back to Summer and her beautiful eyes, her bright lights, and that lovely lemon smell you always talk about." Autumn wipes her eyes and sits up straight in bed.
Tom rolls his eyes at her and throws his sketchpad across the room. "You don't get it, do you? She's alone and happy with being lost in last year. Those beautiful eyes that I nearly drowned in are dancing in the fluorescent lights that clutter her house, and she changed her scent since the last time we met. Now Summer smells like sweet peas and I can't stand it."
Autumn was quiet. Tom sighs and pulls on an old sweater from his senior year, and without saying anything he leaves with his hands fingering lint from his pockets.
During the lazy indian summer in September they plan on sleeping in late, making love to classical films, and taking pictures of the landscape in sepia and black and white tones. When her goldfish dies Autumn wants a ferret that she'll name Hansen and when she gets too engrossed in their lust—and 500 boring days have passed—he'll put an end to their relationship and move onto the dark moon and cold, crisp feel that Winter brings.
It had been the same routine lately, Tom's love life had become dull and spiritless.
Autumn rolls off and inches under the blankets with Tom's arms wrapped around her, he strokes her cheek and watches her face until she falls asleep. He stays up late until he can hear wolves howling deep within the thicket near Autumn's house because Tom can't seem to get any sleep lately. And when both salacious lovers awake in the morning it's early and the sun has barely made it over the horizon.
"Do you want hash browns?" Autumn whispers.
Tom shifts under the sheets, the brittle air makes him uncomfortable and his hair sticks to his forehead in sweaty wisps. "We had hash browns yesterday for breakfast."
"Oh, I forgot," she sighs. "Do you wanna go to the museum and check out the new conceptual art exhibit?"
"No," he replies while scratching his bare chest. "How about we just lay here and enjoy each others company?"
Autumn silently weeps but does not object, she lets Tom sling his arm around her and pull her in close to the hearth kindling in the center of his rib cage. It's not long before she's in hysterics and her tears seep through the bedspread and saliva dribbles from her small mouth and the sun, the clouds, and the neighbors can hear her heart grieving. Tom pulls a sketchpad into his hands along with a piece of charcoal and depicts the scene outside of the window. He's gotten used to liking the blues and the lamentation, so quite frankly, he doesn't care about the broken girl beside him.
"Go back to Summer and her beautiful eyes, her bright lights, and that lovely lemon smell you always talk about." Autumn wipes her eyes and sits up straight in bed.
Tom rolls his eyes at her and throws his sketchpad across the room. "You don't get it, do you? She's alone and happy with being lost in last year. Those beautiful eyes that I nearly drowned in are dancing in the fluorescent lights that clutter her house, and she changed her scent since the last time we met. Now Summer smells like sweet peas and I can't stand it."
Autumn was quiet. Tom sighs and pulls on an old sweater from his senior year, and without saying anything he leaves with his hands fingering lint from his pockets.
During the lazy indian summer in September they plan on sleeping in late, making love to classical films, and taking pictures of the landscape in sepia and black and white tones. When her goldfish dies Autumn wants a ferret that she'll name Hansen and when she gets too engrossed in their lust—and 500 boring days have passed—he'll put an end to their relationship and move onto the dark moon and cold, crisp feel that Winter brings.
♠ ♠ ♠
I got this idea and had to write it out.