The unrestrained light of August,
eraser of contours,
iron of imperfections
departs.
In its blinding luminosity
fire from summer heat
flattens the body’s clefts.
Splendor attracts desire,
in a rush kisses burn fast
without details
or explanations.
September arrives
fragrant with new apples.
Behind olive trees,
made of dust and silver,
shadows enter the eye
as the sun arch lowers into the sea.
I’ve been waiting
for these ripe grapes,
these crowned pomegranates,
announcements from dry leaves ready to dance
with Cezanne’s Quince, Apples and Pears’ colors.
Fall returns,
like I do,
to nuances of red wine,
the hint of your eyelashes on my cheek,
slow growing roses enduring perfume,
promises of an intimate conversation
tasting your lingering kisses,
in that honey light.
