They'll go into jars and bottles and liquids to soak
in a honey-brandy cloak
but others are not to be harnessed for such uses.
They dangle on canes and wave temptingly
slow with a seasoned swagger like Marilyn
wearing flame red
on a bed of blue sky sheets with white fluffy
pillows and spooky moon nightcaps.
From arms in the wind they shimmy
in rhythms from the far east
with bronzed skin and burgundy skirts
they quiver in Autumn induced showers
with long legged undressing thighs
of cherry bark trunks
and spellbinding skies.
October's sweet bribes
like a wine tasting for my eyes
and reprieve from redundancy
gemstones on mountains
elixirs of beauty..
On tiptoes of petioles
hips ripen sweet after frost
into memories and jars they will go
to be sipped, and savored,
forever not lost to my taste
for lusty sips of earth on my lips;