Snapshot of Autumn - Jen Acacia Mittelstadt

Here, this silence, like a gust of wind, spins and dies.

Smoke filled voice rise to linger ‘round the bare bulb.

 

Outside, scraping branches mock our attempt at conversation.

 

Damn this October sky that wishbones the talking trees and feels thin

When you reach up to it

your cigarette still clings to your fingers

like some skinny crown.

 

Now, no words accompany the exhale

smoke escapes unshaped.

Floats, curls, dissipates

around your face.