Come Autumn

House of Heart

On a mossy hill behind a mock castle

we will read Aristophanes to harems

of nymphs strumming their lyre.

Words transform to birds flitting

hearts of lovers while I contemplate

the perfect angle of your face

breathe in the amber resin of pine trees

that permeate our senses

There in the unruffled pools of your eyes

I will die just a little

artist unknown

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