Poetry spam

[lotesse]

The fire-painted leaves
clog the waterways,
lying dead and cold
just beneath the surface
like tiny drowned Ophelias
with their bright garlands.

Don't you hear them begging you
to plunge into the depths
beneath their corpses,
to sluice through the water
and wear the sodden leaves
like a queenly robe?

It might almost be worth
the clutching of the graveyard sea
around you like a lover,
freezing and passionate,
worth it to wear the lunatic lore
of painted leaves in the water.