Bury me where the red leaves are a panicked flight of birds,
shattered rubies falling from the weary throat of the sky.
I want the crimson whispers to coat my chest, caught in the violet teeth of twilight’s salt-heavy breeze.

Shower me with the words you unspooled in the dark,
those wild, drifting seeds you spoke in your sleep.
They are soft murmurs, a harvest of hidden water, a promise kept in the roots of the earth, heavy and deep.

Bathe me until the water learns the geometry of my skin,
grazing me with the ghost of your mouth, precise and slow—
the gentle caress of autumn’s wet, trembling fingertips
searching for the fire that the summer forgot to stow.

Kiss me with the hunger of a thousand forgotten storms,
with the passion I miss like the earth misses the rain.

Let your mouth linger on my soul until I am only shadow,
lost in your eternal abyss, where the seasons end their pain.

©️ Beatriz Esmer