Orange warmth floats and the dust in the sun spots looks like glitter. Crawling on the walls the shadows of autumn whisper heavily.
Go to sleep for the winter, the air is getting moist.
Relief of sighs, soft thighs, but we're out of time and I'm shoving myself through the doggie door into a hidden crawlspace.
Know that you shouldn't, but your heart aches.
Times when you used to have less, all the

gold in world can't keep you in place.
It's all rotted away, covered in a layer on dust and mold.
I have to peel you away.
Citrus skin. You've hardened with age. Wormhole.

-Saree McClaran
11-14-12