Frustration simmers like October sweat, pooling
between my navy-clad thighs.

It keeps me in and out of sweaters,
blooming like apple blossoms burned red on my cheeks
and glistening in the feverish halo of frizz that crowns my bowed head.

An autumnal haze of vices nestles
near my collarbone, calling forth a sinful strand of beads
with its seed-sweet voices of distraction and temptation.

The equinox gleaming in your eyes
and a smile gently stretching the pale appleskin of your lips,
you divert me from my calculations and certainty

and I am ripe for the fall.