Pagan Nights

Autumn winds,
Sway and sound.
Pollinating sins…
Now two wits are bound.

What coincidence,
If not pretence;
That we collide here,
Unlikely as it were.

Upon this leaf infested surface,
Which tonight nature has reclaimed.
Filling the air with menace,
A feeling of the wild –
It dispels inhibitions;
And births mellifluous tongues.
Sets aside ego fictions;
Leaving only fragrant charms!

We ascend these layers of brick;
In a box with numbers you flick.
We arrive at the fifth…
Only to continue to the sixth.
And there an offer – a drink,
Between donor and minx.
And if ever it was a trick,
The treat was still sweet!

 

 

© Heath Muchena, 2012



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