Sylvia breaths sullenly to the purr of the river
Dust settled staunchly beneath her feet
Wrapping copper clouds positioned just so;
It blankets and furls around silken fingertips
Only inches from the mouth that speaks indifferently;
"I wish for nothing more than November graveyards and winter trees"
But the footfalls in August trip over July's June
Tagging innocence when guilt blinds treason
The door to Avalon has never felt so close,
But two skips past Caledonia
She sleeps, invalid
Tossing, see-sawing in five-dimensional wallows
Only to tumble at Persephone's feet;
Life has never felt so fragrant
As it does at death's aperture.
©Ashley Leslie 2013
