A Sense of Fall

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Pick an apple from a tree

Polish on a soft flannel shirt

Lips brush the sun-warmed flesh

Register the last moments of summer

Teeth brake the ruby skin

Liberate a cool spray of sweet nectar

Tongue savor the work of dozens of bees

Honey summer fuses cider fall

A circus of senses result this autumn afternoon

Root simply in an apple picked from a tree

 

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