Fingers

He is Autumn air,
Crisp and clear,
With sharpened,
Slick corners
I both desire
And fear.
And he hides
In my head,
Crouched,
Fading green,
With a Coors
In one hand,
And an expression
Serene.
I tremble
At the sight
Of his eyes
In twilight,
As Aspen musk
Lingers,
And Scorpio fingers
Interlace
With Fall’s kiss,
Again.