Decaying Clutches of Autumn

The demon specter of the fall has captured me. His bony, barren, frigid fingers have wrapped themselves around my throat and swallowed my words. His depraved cognition has slithered into my mind and dispelled my thoughts.

He has drunk with fervor my creativity; from me, he has seized and held for ransom my lover.

That passion was there…I swore it was. I felt the heated touch of his fingers against my cheek in the mist of the dawn. In my own palms slid his silken tresses, released with one orgasmic shudder.

From my window I saw him approach; in anxious anticipation he made his way along the brick lined with the dead twisting cloth of the weeping arms of the rotted willows.

But he evaporated into the wind, traces of him lingering in the falling eve. The scent of him the wisp of imagination and that only which I’d projected.

From the deck of his vessel Charon held me hostage to his vicious intent, his own deathly cackle piercing the rancid night air as he mocked me in my search.

There my lover hovered at the shore, despondent as the devil pulled me further from his embrace…his sorrowful pity waved us along under the veil of the mournful branches grabbing out in one final grasp in prayer of passion.

I turned my pleading to the tears of the sky, to the possessive scowl of my bloodless keeper, to the fleeting vision of my spectral cavalier.

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