Autumn Passions

by denny bastian 2013

In the innocent time of her sixteenth year,

She stands there; her long, dark, hair hanging

like black silk against the fairest of cheek,

stray strands nibbling at the sensual corners

of her untouched lips, so desired by every

man that has ever seen or spoken to her. Her

eyes, her eyes, they stir my Autumn passions.

My heart is envious of the prized red grape

that she reaches up to pluck from amongst

the red, gold leaves of Autumn.  From a safe

distance, I shyly worship the delicate hand

that plucks the grape, the apron hem that

gently wipes each one, and the lips that part

just enough to taste the succulent fruit of life.

O’ cruel Autumn, you mockingly present to

me what I cannot possibly attain in this lifetime

or the next, for my one true love is the beloved

daughter of a wealthy man and I am but a lowly

gardener who is worthy of much less.  Alas, I

must pretend that I gaze upon the beauty of

Autumn leaves when it is you my heart desires.