*for aviva*
you and late autumn afternoons
share treasures
whispered gifts that twirl
following the lead of leaves
ochre golden and spun
by the language of winds
that bring a chill
before they allow for comfort
with just a few specks of crimson
that announces itself
with the slash of that cutting feature of your grin
you have become
a whispered treasure
the road to you more clear
in the light from your lips
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