The morning wind blows fresh –
The minx,
In anticipation of a summer’s day,
Reaches up her fingers underneath my t-shirt,
And presses up against
Your red bikini top
Clinging on to goosebumped skin.
But whisper this!
With these seductions
She brings us news
Of distant welcomings,
And aromatics, sweet from northern lakes,
And silent mountains gesturing
For us to fall into their deep embrace.
But she has her reputation.
She brings us all of that,
But brings it all with such impetuous timing,
On fool’s gold ornaments
That speak of wanton needs,
And taunts us with the transparent greens
Of summers we will never see.
But we have done our crying.
We’ll tell the friends we leave
That it was never meant to be.
We’ll hold our mothers’ hands
And promise we will not let go
Until they’re sleeping.
And for the rest there will be no goodbyes
For we will see them at the water’s side.
– 0 –
Summer 2010
No Rhyme, No Reason 