the dying side
she never really loved him like he loved her that summer
that summer that smelled of chlorine, peonies, and thunder
and she never really told him because it was enough to just behold him
and be his lightweight jacket on all those chilly summer evenings
but now, far from that summer, and the humid cocoon of August
he sees the traces she’s been leaving in all that ivory dust
in the midst of making sense of their complex situation
he knows he could never make her love him, the way he wished she would
but thanks to him she’s stable now, not just living in the present now
her heart beating to the rhythm of its own unique tune
and in her heart he’ll always be, his footprints line the surface they
resemble the clumsy, ill-adjusted one’s of man’s first on the moon.
that summer that smelled of chlorine, peonies, and thunder
and she never really told him because it was enough to just behold him
and be his lightweight jacket on all those chilly summer evenings
but now, far from that summer, and the humid cocoon of August
he sees the traces she’s been leaving in all that ivory dust
in the midst of making sense of their complex situation
he knows he could never make her love him, the way he wished she would
but thanks to him she’s stable now, not just living in the present now
her heart beating to the rhythm of its own unique tune
and in her heart he’ll always be, his footprints line the surface they
resemble the clumsy, ill-adjusted one’s of man’s first on the moon.