I arrive at your doorstep, flowers in hand,
To surprise you on this beautiful day in June.
Your birthday, and the perfect day to take you out,
Could there be nothing more excellent than this?

I ring your doorbell and stand there for a minute,
And then you open the door,
Swollen eyes and a tearstained face.
Darling what's the matter?

I try to console you,
But you only push me away.
Saying that you are sorry.
Whatever you've done, why should I be mad at you?

I attempt to hold you ,
And then you begin to scream
At the top of your lungs.
How long did you say it was since?

I am confused now,
If you say that you eat double now,
And that you and I brought life here,
Then why should you be sad?

I do not understand,
And you begin crying again.
'It is the product of another man!'
And now I wonder why?

I understand now,
And I am frozen dead in my tracks,
I drop the flowers and walk out the door
Do I dare look back?

I can hear you crying behind me and I drop to my knees in your front yard.
For hours I sit as your wails die down,
You bring out a beer for me and a soda for yourself.
And I ask you 'how long?'

You reply with 'only a few weeks'
And to follow I ask who.
Somber, you cannot remember,
Only that you were not willing and could not recall much.

We gaze unto the stars and what a whirlwind these hours have been,
Conversing until dawn.
And everything remains calm as I carry you back inside,
Sleeping in my arms.

On your bed I lay you,
And beside you I stay until you are deep in slumber,
Peaceful and the flowers now in a vase.

I touch your stomach and I can nearly feel the life within.
Life jumps beneath your closed eyelids.

Considering the circumstance, I cannot think of a better way to spend this June day.

She thinks he hung the moon.
A princess with her shining knight
In love, she fell, with him so soon.

As he proclaimed her beautiful, she swoons.
He stands in black; she walks in white
She thinks he hung the moon.

Pinot grigio in crystal poured by noon;
He reads to her in the yellow sunlight -
In love, she fell, with him so soon.

By night, he has her wrapped in a cocoon
Fire ablaze, she clenches his arms so tight
She thinks he hung the moon.

By morning, it’s their honeymoon
He kisses her hard with all his might
In love, she fell, with him so soon.

And then, by the end of June,
Inside her something stirs, a delight
She knows he hung the moon,
In love, she fell, strongly with him so soon.

He looked like a mixture
Of my last ex-boyfriend
And the boy that
Passed my senior year of
High school.

The perfect balance of
One of my mistakes
And
One of God's mistakes.

But the book he was reading screamed
Dan.
And I hadn't thought
About Dan since June
And I had hoped
To keep it that way.

But here I was opening the flood gates.
And I couldn't get a proper grasp on anything.
And my handwriting was so shaky it was almost illegible.

It was June, the month of broken promises and hopeless dreams.
I was further gone than I’d been before, perhaps a bit recklessly,
But we were young and restless and the night was aging fast.

So we went to war, all guns and roses and bloodless violence;
The guns weren’t loaded, and the roses had wilted last month,
But we needed to see who’d be victorious, so we fought.

The battle raged on and on past the midnight hour, and I?
I prayed for my salvation, and that I’d die younger than the others
Because we couldn’t stop until there was but one man left standing.

It was June, the land of broken dreams and hopeless promises.
I was young, perhaps younger than I’d been before the war,
But the night was dying, and in the light of dawn I saw.

Morning was breaking, and I was too, but I’d be going home first
Because at my feet were the bloodied bodies of my allies,
Scattered amongst the wilted roses and the now hollow guns

I closed the eyes of the one I’d loved above all the others,
But it was cold as stone and the roses were quickly overtaking him,
Because as hard as I’d prayed that night, death had kept me waiting.

It was June, the realm of love lost and something called grief.
I lay me down to rest amongst the young roses, and, bitter, bitter, bitter,
I celebrated the century with a single deadly bullet called deliverance.

Our Strawberry Moon,
Now waxed in June,
Brings crops to bloom;
Like a balloon:
All gone too soon.