.
You are
like the sweetness
of autumn
up on the hills
under the apple tree,
into the air
still
filled with bee-buzzes
and dust,
the golden sun reflection in your hair
and your shoes -
black as the charcoal of night's heart
sunk deep into the grass
still wet
with tears of the
early dew
of old October
wake up,
I've painted you
in all the colors
you've ever dreamt,
in frost and apples
and bees and golden dust
and all the dreams
that ever grow
up on the hill
upon the back of
rainbow.
.