An August Love

Windows stacked on windows stacked on windows

are rolling out beneath our little heads,

melting away into the orange of

the afternoon sky. Made from puppet threads -

we feel more alone than we really are.

His fuzzy breath is warm against my ear,

sangria scented, whispering dirty

lullabies for no onlookers to hear.

These hills where we lie above the city,

catch a stormy breeze that flirts with my thighs.

Goose-bumped skin, a sign of August ending -

bed of grass, absorb our tear stained goodbyes?

As the dulling grey of September starts,

oh tranquil love, these skies won't dull our hearts.