Monefano in Autumn

In Montefano* of the silent view,
we  first met,

strolling aimless through deserted streets;

only the carefree sound of the young at play,

sprinkles of innocence, tripping among the shadows cool,

garnishing the closed and shuttered windows,

with scented dreams of simple lives,

indecipherable.

The fields of clotted sunflower squadrons arrayed,

surround and besiege the fortress village.

Necklaced by roads, nippled by churches,

fed by neatly combed fields and the cordons of apple trees;

lime green gravidity, hidden in still playful leaves.

On the hillsides, we counted the maize stalks that Autumn,
and you said they were dreaming of their fall from grace.

There were tales of pig troughs and white enamelled gluttony,

whispered about, in the rustling stands.

Here is where we first met,
and yes, at first, I saw only your breasts,

and they were play sized for fondling, not feeding,

and then, your lips that were to be nibbled,

your hips to be dibbled, 

and your eyes . . .
that were to drown my world, in yours,
forever.

                                                                        ©niall oconnor 2014
*Montefano is a comune (municipality) in the Province of Macerata in the Italian region Marche.