Summer Storm

My love is fickle like the summer storms

The rain comes down hard here in Georgia,

And dark deep storm clouds stain the sunny sky.

The light shines, glowing against the trees

Luminous gold draped over dark green and grey

The love that stains my lips is so enticing, and so fleeting

The lingering vibrations of dance moves past,

The bittersweet taste of ballads sung and forgotten.

It seems that tenderness is just slightly past the grasp of my fingertips.

Baritone I love you's whispered in my ear on nights that are too hot,

Our sweat tastes like honey.

You love me with enchanting discomfort,

Our passion turns into sticky sensuality.

It seems I'm always engaging with quickly fading beauty

The object of my affection dissipates like smoke in my peripheral.

I'm always downplaying the loneliness of dancing with shadows and chasing could-have-been's.

In the end I am only accompanied by my solitude,

Who's comfort is jarring and harsh.

True love doesn't taste like raspberry wine,

Or the gentle caress of fingertips on my back.

It doesn't look dreamy like stars across navy velvet,

Or soft lips and curly hair by the firepit.

I cant seem to hold onto the romance of candlelit rooms, strawberries, or champagne.

Instead I am left laying naked, stripped bare under bright lights

My chest is torn open so I can see just how steadily my heart beats

The steely reality underneath me is cold but my red blood runs warm.

Understanding comes to me as I'm bleeding; True love is the gut wrenching feeling that I am living,

And I am breathing.