You could say they were doomed,
the night they picked the flowers off the dogwood
in the courtyard of an otherwise
insignificant apartment complex
somewhere outside of Savannah.
A fairytale of unlikely lovers
slowly more captivated in the passing moments
of that Georgia heat.
The type of heat that coats your skin
and roots your soul into the Earth.
Air that defies all laws of nature,
because it seems almost palpable in your hands.
The type of air in which you fall in love
too quickly,
because it slows down time and space.
Where a night can become a lifetime,
shrouding demons and doubts.
Where a kiss becomes a promise,
and a hesitated touch becomes forever.
Young lovers fooled by the tricks of those
southern summer nights,
under weeping willows and fireflies
masquerading as stars.
But the demons returned when the humidity broke,
far too late to doubt the mirages that had been
created by the night;
inevitably feigned promises whispered
by the glow of distant street lights.
Expectations,
tied like anchors to ships
that otherwise should have passed in the night.