When Summer Is Gone


There will still be seeds of it
In the wreath of grass
You braided into your hair,
The scent of it
Will live under your tongue
So that your kisses
Become ripe berries
Or currant wine.

The lazy forever sunsets
Will be mirrored by your eyelashes
Lids half drawn over the vibrant blue
Of skies that ache forever in perfect
Blue deepening to indigo
Sweeping like curtains of shimmering rain
Held in the breaks between drifting fat sodden clouds
Washing everything new and bright
In the hem of your dress
Tumbled about your knees.

The season may turn as easily
As you do beneath crisp sheets
With a subtle sigh
As gentle cool as autumn
Whispering secrets to the leaves and mold
Raising up the fine hairs that decorate
Your arms, the roundness of your thighs
Yet the memories of summer
Sleep easy between us
Ripe and golden.

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2 Responses to “When Summer Is Gone”

  1. maples blush red at the images you have created about their brilliant season
    the north still whispers your name

  2. The season and this month weigh heavily on my soul; so much happiness and the greatest sadness marked by each day’s passing. Like this one, for example.
    An end to the immense pain of one whose hands built things and whose strength, even in silence, gave comfort to so many. Remember him in your thoughts today.
    Such words not meant for this forum, but…

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