into
autumn
I fall

smearing
my breasts
hands
belly
face
and legs

delicately

with the tip
of charred
limb.

black leaves
etched
against
my hips

should turn
red
and
orange
and
gold

in this season.

but I have forgotten
how to dream
of you in color.

and I have no desire
to paint swirls of withering artistry
against my own skin.

in tribute
to your memory

I pen


s

a

d

n

e

s

s



along my thigh.