I woke this morning
With the sadness of a macaroon
Dipped in Chocolate
Sweet
Yet still sad

I will miss Autumn

Oh, I know our paths will cross again
But I loved hearing
The pagan soap-opera
Of her existence

She is the making of tomorrow
She is on the front lines
She chooses impossible things
She will be the honey of healing

Bless the soul of my favorite sacred harlot