The sun hasn't set this summer.
The thought of you is always here to stretch my days
into centuries. Even when you are absent, in every
way, my afternoons will not surrender. Sometimes
I dream of stars and where they may be stranded now.
You tell me I imagined the night and every secret
you stuffed inside of my skull. Do you remember
when I would kiss soft songs along your spine and
in return you gave me stamps for the love notes
I still haven't sent? I guess I still say to much, but
if I didn't would you have seen the springtime or
those sapphires in your eyes? You still stare at me
as if I can be saved. I say this sweetly, I
have accepted that I will never sleep soundly
again. So grant me without a goodbye, and I'll let
this sickness make you sorry. Finally,
let the sun set, sing only to her,
and give me back myself.