September

By: A.C. Cash

Sleepy wooden beanstalk love

Makes me weak at the knees.

A fugitive of my bedroom.

A whisper, or caress.

Taking sleep for granted

My coffee turns cold.

I’ll see you in September.

Rain pours down.

Screen doors slamming.

Windy city, or a wild child.

Peaches and cream.

Crumbling, tumbling, escaping

From beneath our feet.

Many moons, or months away.

Years pass by

Like we are blind to the music

We cannot hear.

Stay awake tonight.

Cry, or scream.

Tell me it was May when we met

Not December.

Twenty-two years.

Now we are here.

Close enough

To unspeakable change

We can feel it.

We cannot win.

Nine long years.

Will I see you again?

Wrapped in country music.

No tin roof necessary.

Loving like kinfolk on a Tuesday.

It’s Friday.

Sons and daughters

Eating cereal at bedtime.

Guitars, or drums.

Cymbals crash.

I’ll preach a sermon

To a sea of tangerine seeds.

Sunshine, or sweetness.

September.