August’s summer temper(ature) tantrum

bleeds into September’s autumnal promise

patience and good humor will prevail

should we fail to wilt before cool air arrives

if I’d had the legs,

I would run to you

and never once falter

in my stride.

*

had I wings to span the heavens,

I would fly across oceans

and over every mountain

just to hover above

the very hairs on your head.

*

every breath, every good thought —

were I to mechanize

the ferocity of my heart —

I’d pour it out, every last bit of it

over the sundry sands of an eternity,

so I might love you again

just one more time.

tulips in the tall grass

laughter and rain

the ripening solitude

brew-pub high top

regrets laid low

confessional laughter

cringy sighs

sins brushed off the table

swept up & away

at the end of every shift