Don’t account for that morning.
A south wind blew but brought no promise
Summer had covered us in a lunatic charade of love.
A chill hovered over your bare skin, a pale protective aura.
There where the willow
I found God
to be powerless
except for in
those small meaningless moments of tender compassion.
You shifted your arm and leaned your shoulder into me.
In a blighted gown the sun crept over us.
I tasted the blood in your lips as the shadows fluttered
on the grass
and craved even more for that subtle parting.
But in our haste to preserve a timeless moment
unraveling before us
we gave allowances to each other
to console the turbulent imaginings
of youth’s naked want.