Autumn to me
Is when snow and leaves
Both crunch
Beneath my feet
In August bloom

When sixty one degrees
Is blistering
And makes me need
To shed my three jackets

It’s a kind of scent
Of place
That candle shops
And scent chemists
Can’t dream to
Really replicate

You’d have to be there
To get it

And when you’re not there
You’ll miss it

Its influence seeps into
The hardwood floor
You wake up on at 1am
Before you decide
To take a shot of vodka
And wander the streets

And you’ll lock eyes
With others in the
Vulerable guise

It’s the taste of a
Freshly toasted
Frozen waffle
With no syrup on it

It looks like
Zodiac light
Set in a firey haze
Like an eye of coal
With an
Abyssal gaze

It’s a pumpkin spice latte
In a pale girl’s hand

Sweater weather so cold
That glass blood vessels
In your fingers
Start to seize

It’s the rows of harvest
A mark of its growth
Obscuring the soil
It’s all planted on

Venturing in between the
Stalks, stalking
A way out; an exit

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