you slipped so sullenly through the slivers
between my fingers some summer
and i suppose it wasn't so long ago now
if you hadn't already been planning
your way away as a rum runner
my frightening you might've taken the helm at the bow.
you slid through my synapses
like heavy molasses
too rich and thick to bear
and by the time i caught wind
the sails were all hol(e-)y
(but it was too late for me to not care).
you'd been around since... i now can't remember...
during a season of humid debris-
and departed, only to resurrender
('til the deuce of September)
to the mundane and hot cavity.
such a nuisance it was to run into you!
like a delicate cobweb unseen
(nearly) unknowingly foiling
plans over which you'd been toiling
and these strands of yours upon me still cling...
because despite my fortuitous blunder
you quit me with quiet calm, and left me to wonder
what to make of our whole affair
that thrived in confused, murky sentiment where
the air was moist-
and the season its hottest.
did what we share only blossom to die
at the end of that August?