Mea Culpa

This November day,
as the first blanket of icy white fades,
in your warm kiss-
The texture of softness, blue,
white with gray moves east in Autumn's bliss-
Sensual trees and grasses dip and sway,
time flows-this day! this day!
Birds flit and fly on wing,
so close within your ark.
Across the field sings black bibbed yellow meadow lark.
There a painted pinto pony grazes,
head down, tresses curl, fold and flips-
Leaves sprint and sprawl,
at your sweet breathy lips.
A gift given to lowly me, to see,
to hear, taste and touch your wonderest majesty.
Your hand consistent on me,
this restless quill pointed to your will.
So good to me, so good to me,
when I loved you not, you loved me still-
on this November's rainy day,
I stoke the fire to warm the chill.