July 32rd

Sat in a quadrant of the saffron-yellow beaming ball of sun

our mouths muttered syllables of gratitude for one more month

our hands are locked, it’s been three years since we’ve been born

we had emerged from summer’s womb, hot, sweaty, scorched and burnt

floral spring was a blur, with three trampled roses for my temper

you in a distance is a stab to my heart—an open wound with a sprinkle of hot chilli

when I’m in your arms everything else is useless like a coat from December

you’re my angel in this guise—an enchanting lover, a delicate lilly

With my hat sitting slanted and a torquoise bag full of berries

I know your love is intoxicating and you’re drifting away I believe

So I whispered in your ear in bad french, au revoir oh ma chérie!

but you assured me you would never die, or shrivel up like winter’s leaves

But then a whisper breaks my costly daydream, they say it was your time and you had to go in July

so every year I create one more day in summer, just to pretend heaven gave me the chance to wish you goodbye.