Faded orange leaves hang in pale pallor
Weeping their summer sun over bare legs,
Scarcely we notice as last light in sadness begs.
In our youth we stole my old man’s dark rum
And laughed while biting and clawing til numb.
Blackened bruise marks accompanied the dregs.
Winter slaps the dank shutters with a clatter.
Whisky and your absence sitting together,
Marvelling at the lovely fucking weather.
In our youth, smoking cold Lucky Strikes,
The Mill Pond glazed in yellow headlights,
Skating slow figure eights, what did it matter.
Daffodils dance lively in the ripening dew,
As meadow’s mossy whippet bursts forth anew,
And last fall’s mad coupling slinks from sight.
As youth we sailed naked under wry orb sun,
The solstice extending blithe weekend fun,
Languidly tossing this hopeful party of two.
Heavy clouds sifting the grey evening sky,
Foreshadowing storms as slowly you cry,
Torrents gush forth and show we are done.
In our youth I gathered wild plums in the dirt,
Filling that white, Ramones t-shirt,
Ripe breasts glossed with the sweat of July.
Sweet was the fullness of summer’s flesh ripe,
The outer self crashing soft inward delights,
Seasons turn over, each leaving their own hurt.