autumn witch and her slayer

Treetops stain orange and brown.

Vibrancy settles in the hills.

Red wine stains above the sky;

black clouds tuft into raven wings.

She stands with inky hair,

long strands curl down

like snakes that await pray.

Still, yet elegant.

He towers with a quiver

on his lip.

Wet eyes beg her to run.

He clutches danger in his hands.

She closes in on him.

The way she walks is

an autumn breeze

and a slow tempo.

Lips caress on his skin.

The target on her drifts.

He falls for the daunted.

Falls for the spell,

the one he convinces himself

he is under.

The spell is just her.

She will not burn

he thinks.

She is his but cannot be.

He clutches her wrists.

He begs her to run.

She steps back and

leaves him in curiosity.

Heat chars her skin.

She steps in the gap

where he lacks to

finish out his hunt.

Occult boots scuff firewood.

Ash stained fingers trace

beautiful edges and lines.

She was love.