Summer

 I slipped through your garden gate 

Barefoot, breathy 

Draped in the hush of midnight blooms 

He was waiting 

A wolf in the wisteria 

August clung to my neck like fever 

Humid, sticky 

My body was a matchstick 

Struck by his words

Igniting our fever dream 

His hands, apostate prayers 

Landing on the cathedral of my skin 

We were secret as sin 

Reciting vows into the midnight air 

As roses bit their tongues 

Aware that it was all temporary 

I wore desire like a bruise 

Purple, proud 

The garden knew 

Even the iron gate rusted 

With the salt of our shame 

He loved me cruelly 

Like a dare 

Like salt in a chalice 

Every kiss, a gate closing

Yet still I waited 

The gate stayed open all summer 

Until no one returned 

Only the wind, tearing petals from the blooms

Like pages from my ribs 

An ill-fated chapter 

Seasons shifted

Summer was over 

As were we 

August slipped away like a bottle of wine 

Leaving me hungover 

Lonely, longing