Endless August

I have swam your blue eyes enough
to know the color of the ocean.

We rise ethereal with laughter and smoke
below hanging lights which drift through

time, Bulleit in our blood.

Months will pass before
we talk our pasts again.

Until then I am content on
the sun-steel chairs to wait.

 

(originally published in The Wayward Sword, Summer 2018)

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