Upon reflection, it is always so
The brightest lights die out first.
But thankful for memories of intensity
I'll never forget, the timbre of the summers afternoon
That I first lay with you.
How the hum of a lawnmower
Playing out across static calm
Captured the infinite space between
Like a blood-drunk mosquito, detained in amber
All sense of ourselves was overwhelmed in sensuality.
When I dream again, I drown in those dissipated glimpses
Dead days that break over me, in vague fragments
Seem less real than this memory.
It remains held there, beyond the reach of time
Shining up above, like a pure moon
To look back upon, and in obscure unguarded moments
Reawaken to the strange bygone strains of an afternoon in summer.
Or as you may happen to remember it, a placid evening in late spring.