Autumn, the burnish of her hair
Trapped devil flecks of pitchfork red,
Cascading shades of setting suns
Billowing on the satin bed.
Lithe puma she stretches,
Lissom flesh as fluid milk,
In the scarlet of her parting lips,
In the rust motes of her eyes,
In the pallor of her cherished skin,
Sex and sweetness symbolise.
Red as the bleed of Shepard clouds
Burning the twilight fields,
Autumn, the burnish of her hair,
Beauty, her yield of yields.