With a flutter of my lash June, July, and August has passed. Your crimson skin nestled in my palm confirms that I need not ask.
And so August 27th too comes closer, surfacing to conscious thought of what was once your smile, laugher and heart.
I surround myself with like minded friends, a few plums drenched in port and even a few cigarettes. I allow my lashes to fall and I drift away to where I see your smile, hear your laugher, and feel the warmth of your heart beat love into mine once again.