Watercolor Decay

Something about this time of year

makes me want to climb up into

the tree outside your window

and make you believe I’m more

beautiful than its watercolor decay.

I might be able to half-convince you

there’s splotches of color in my mind

that match all this breathtaking death

I could never show on paper but could

certainly tell you about, if you wanted

to sit and listen, and would let me

lounge in your apple-cider smile

and the cinnamon dust of your eyes.

If we could pretend for an afternoon

we’re still children, and sit under a

shifting sky telling stories,

made-up and true, do you think,

quite think, we could turn into those leaves?

That someone could come along

and rake us together, so together,

in a pile of ourselves we couldn’t

tell you from me? Color from color?

Ripping ourselves from trees –

lie with me in these wilting autumn evenings

and let’s dabble in our humanness.

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16 thoughts on “Watercolor Decay

  1. Oh Natalie, *swoon*. Very romantic. You got me with “…splotches of color in my mind; that match all this breathtaking death; I could never show on paper…” πŸ™‚
    Peter

  2. “your apple-cider smile

    and the cinnamon dust of your eyes.” I can taste and smell this. What a delight. Where is this “Grapeling’s interview mentioned in the above comment? It there an interview of you to read?

    1. Thanks so much Alice! No, no interview – the blogger Grapeling was interviewed and said some very wonderful things about my poetry. I swear, I am undeserving of such things πŸ˜‰

Thoughts? I love those.

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