Iris Stories

She holds the waningGold of AutumnAlways in her iris',Illuminating cold grey landscapesWith her tiger eyes,Long after the colored leaves have gone.

I kneel on dandelion carpets and weave lilacs between her rose and purple iris, I assume avuncular circumspect on her horizon. Her sky sucks rain that swallows my smoldering sun. Tasmanian blue gum shadows sit restless in the river’s bend. Ornithes Areioi circles concentric beneath a gibbuous placid moon. We sighing lovers who seperate at Auroras elastic dawn and lay in dark unfurrowed aubades, we listen to the oracular s...