It is the end of the glory days.
An end of feeling intense
heat soaking into veins, and
swallowing handfuls of melatonin
to get through warm-breezed nights.
With silent gods and drugs I forgot you,
and had two summers to myself.
The last of my childhood.
Watching stars and traffic lights,
I canned thoughts of yellow afternoons
into jars.

When winter came again, it brought you.
Set you at my door, wearing a disguise.
If I could see your face it would appear
as nothing but a series of masks.
Winter wants companionship and warmth.
What I canned in the summer will
prevent me from becoming your hearth.
In the springtime you and your loneliness
will be gone. I can count on another summer
without you.

09/01/2003

Posted on 09/01/2003
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