summer past

october twelfth,
that stole our souls
or at least took mine
away from me.
i must admit that beauty
was a sometime-sight to be seen.
as i ponder over a-string
and look over my b stings
and the one that i can't c.
that made (the other) her so proud of me.
maybe, like a year's lost virginity
mine returned to inhabit me,
unseen.

this year's summer draws to a close.
montmartre will hold the echo of your stare,
and the print of our lips.
the burns that colour my fingers will touch
the cold metal of the night sky.
i'll wonder if i gave you too much.

then, in the same painful verity
i've grown to know,
you'll tell me that you love me.