A Lament for July
Don’t you still remember
The days before September?
When blood ran hot through our veins
Instead of cold on the sidewalk.
Was it the sharp winds that killed us?
(Razor chills raking across damask skies and young skin,
Leaving us to reap the memories.)
Or was it the evening twilight?
(I saw your face once crowned in ethereal suburban fire,
And I burned under your molten eyes.)
Autumn made corpses of us both
Yet we still pretend we walk amongst the living.