The summer had passed without consequence.
Through blissful parks and cemetery walks,
I measured time by the slits in the fence
and hunchbacks forming on sunflower stalks.
I found a thought of you amongst the pills,
in the pelvic bone of a wishing well,
I searched through the postcards, the old film-stills,
the notes for a story I could not tell.
I know that autumn will be my demise.
Dry toast and jet-lag upon each morning,
painting anecdotes into my disguise,
and act as if a new day is dawning.
Whilst all of the time I shall think of you
in Saturn's arms, or held in Neptune's blue.