Corset strings are tugged in eager.
Buttons are hastily done along a slender back.
Dusty leather boots laced up over worn, woolen stockings.
Door concealed with chipped, yellowing paint
Slammed behind her,
She is gone, already set out on the path.
The path marked by eons of repetition.
Auburn hair of autumn swirling, and coiling in the breeze.
Complexion of cream,
Glowing in the chill of the encroaching evening.
She gathers her skirts of coco brown and tired red in sweat coated palms.
She swiftly darts from the cottage of comfort, out of sight.
It is time.
Withering blooms and changing leaves collecting in the dirtied lace of her petticoat.
With a flick of her head, locks flying all around her heart shaped face
She yearns to catch a glance,
Drink in the rare sly grin;
Of perfect shining teeth,
So alike to the glimmering stars,
Her brothers and sisters of her same age,
Now floating their way across the deep pool of evening sky.
Her lips part.
She calls across the shadowed land,
Extends her delicate arm through protruding branches of oak,
Her soft hand with dainty fingers artfully extends,
Calling,
Wishing,
To interlock with no key to release,
Into His.
He rises from his slumber of many moon cycles,
Spent amongst the friends of the flowers.
Immediately aroused by her presence,
He clutches her intimately to him.
Smells of cinnamon, and the smoke of the homely hearth in her long locks.
He pulls away.
His blonde hair so tussled,
so light as is almost white,
Complexion pale, expression hard as ice.
Yet, slowly melting with her now in his sights.
She turns her chin to face him.
Eyes of soft hazel, the browns, greens, and yellows of the earth,
Lock,
With his piercing blue frozen ponds and clouds of dark.
Hand grasps hand,
A glinting stone;
Exchanged reluctantly,
But with knowledge in their hearts of necessity.
Marble of living, swirling, blues and greens left in the crater of his palm.
The Planet of Earth.
The maiden slipped to the soft earth in deep sleep.
The man,
The Handsome Man of Ice,
Held the marble, his one burden,
Up to the now blackened sky.
Willing himself not to look at her,
Her hair of autum sprawled on the forest floor.
As his one tear,
Slides down the side of his face,
Freezing as it slips down,
To the earth now chilled,
His one tear for what never could be,
Between the Man of Ice,
And the Autumn Dame.