Originally published 22/01/2021

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Cupid’s Bow

By Joel Everett

Your Cupid’s bow arched upwards

falls slowly like blossom – pink

the giggle recedes

with my layman’s share.

Divine laughter

Eros, comes to its end;

and Atlas loosens his grip.

You look now upon humility

with one beaded eye –

a seeing stone.

The leaves had begun to fall

outside. Their fiery hues

in the crucible –

frost burnt edges

like skirt brown pages.

Out of the sky a misty rain

and sweet scent –

extant decay in heaps of yellow,

brown, as cork, red,

as summery dusk yawning,

green, as the grass below our feet.

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