The cicadas were chirping
(or maybe screaming)
moments ago.
It was a nice sound,
if bittersweet.

This morning I said
“summer mornings are nice.
I never enjoy them as much as I should.”

I did today and and I want to now.

I don’t want to spend the last day of summer
alone,
in my room,
waiting.

Saying I’m doing something
but really,
all I do in here
is wait.

Red is for the feeling when she’s mentioned.
But scarlet is your favorite color,
and it’s my favorite dress, and favorite deception,
yet her name makes me feel smaller.

brown is for the color of our eyes:
yours are dark chocolate,
while mine are milky on the inside.
and I‘m always in your orbit.

I think I like you like the color blue.
sometimes we’re teal and laugh all day,
but for the promises we make it’s navy too
and there are three words I wish you’d say…

the world was dull until you came in,
and if you left I’d hate to see again.

Before a summer rain,
there is no black,
no clouds seized with pain.
There is only a gentle rolling,
as the storm sets in.
The sky is yellow,
and the rain only
gradually
begins.

There is the pattering of rain
on leaves, thunder
rumbling its discontent
at the humid air.
And my face in the window,
with my senses
ensnared.