Whimsy

The twilight haunts you,

in timbered indecision, souls collide:

mellowed gold and blooming

with autumn song still weeping

The ghosts of our memoir

branching in afterlife,

it's shadow stretches to the most private

corners of my heart.

What whispered promise is this?

uttered in sweet drunkery

bruised with blemished lies, I spied

the whimsy behind your eye.

Such sardonic sonnets,

spilled from autumn blooms

to splash against my soul

to toil and spin out

of control.