Reed Bent Against the Wind

reed bent against the wind
illusions of simplicity
cloak palpable reality

iced silk winds
speak of your hands

if they were cold,
chilled in October gale,
I would warm them with cocoa
fog your glasses
soft tender kisses
for each callus and wrinkle of them
sampling each finger tip
ruffling hair,
like greying fur,
while warming chilled ears
with soft pink tongue

mind rejects autumn fantasy
leaves float by
veined as hands