We felt the warm sun on our shoulders,
As we climbed that grassy hill. Clambered
among sweet buttercups, swaying in a hazy september breeze. A pair of lost souls. Sinners.
Far from the kerbside violets we knew once.
The September days were long, as were our formal, tiring, careful sentiments
I didn't tell you then, that to me
You were and would forever be
a thousand rain-soaked day-kisses
A forgotten treasure, like a wild pine scent, a pink tinted perfection
To undress with my eyes
And then with trembling fingers.
To kiss amongst the dandelions and blackberries
You were a fresh fruit, then over ripened.
Started to rot under the sunny affections of various town girls. Wine warming, fire dying, stars disappearing behind pale clouds of hair attached to
a pretty face's empty head.
Now it's just me in my meadow.
The birds picked their fruit from the stem of winter, and the harvest of summer love is over.