Last week I slept
in a cabin in the woods, hugging
my dear, drunk fellow and curling in
my toes from the chill. The world outside was
straw yellow, maple yellow, sun yellow,
and blushing tones of red,
now shadowed.
He breathed solidly, slept
a warm, beery sleep with his elbow
wrapped, gently, around mine.
Decay is beautiful.
We're as golden as endings,
as leaves slowly dying,
as weeds spinning gently
downstream.
