Her Black Eyes Misting

i am yawning

my eyes crease

and water

in a spate of gasps

still i climb

following her

haunting scent

the clockwork cedes

our blueing light

cold hands clasp

a warming cup

a cupped cheek

a rosy breast

then her black

bitter eyes

blink at me, misting

november visits

ill moods

frosting chill

dying trees

rotted leaves

manifest in slanting light

slowly spun

windward from the sun

five months spring

rounding fresh

glacially

we throw off

our tatty clothes

our failed

melancholy hopes–

our greedy

fusing

bodies

in soaring heat

stoking fire

to ride out

mighty winter

~e