Sat in a quadrant of the saffron-yellow beaming ball of sun
our mouths muttered syllables of gratitude for one more month
our hands are locked, it’s been three years since we’ve been born
we had emerged from summer’s womb, hot, sweaty, scorched and burnt
floral spring was a blur, with three trampled roses for my temper
you in a distance is a stab to my heart—an open wound with a sprinkle of hot chilli
when I’m in your arms everything else is useless like a coat from December
you’re my angel in this guise—an enchanting lover, a delicate lilly
With my hat sitting slanted and a torquoise bag full of berries
I know your love is intoxicating and you’re drifting away I believe
So I whispered in your ear in bad french, au revoir oh ma chérie!
but you assured me you would never die, or shrivel up like winter’s leaves
But then a whisper breaks my costly daydream, they say it was your time and you had to go in July
so every year I create one more day in summer, just to pretend heaven gave me the chance to wish you goodbye.
About the Creator
Damilola
poet, wanderer, writer.
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