Autumnal Aches
Emma Sims
Waltzing through mud,
Leaves dropped on the path;
Using aged language,
Like wouldst, thou, and hath.
Raging onwards within,
My own carnal desire;
Wouldst that I could,
Stoke your internal fire;
And ravish your lips,
In ways I don’t know how;
For a maiden you are,
And none fairer than thou.
As we kiss ‘neath the trees,
Themselves half undressed;
I think what we hath,
With our bodies compressed,
Are autumnal aches,
In remnants of rain;
And I think to myself,
I must see you again.