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There's something so intimate
witnessing the turning of leaves

it's frondescent symphony
like timed harvest of nature's qualms

her skin turning a color
to entice a manner of her voice
whispering in:


the chill of the air
the noon breezes
the night's embrace
the morning's shy quivers


as if to say-


collect all the shapes
and sides of me

sewing imagery in...