Pulling down the shades.
The bed calls.
We don’t hesitate smelling of musk and skin.
The sheets cool our hot bodies.
The mirror reflects hair and open mouths,
shoulders and sex.
September is quiet until the wind blows.
Then the sounds rustle my nerves.
The edge drops like shadows hidden.
Even breathing is too loud.
September falls with me down a hill.
Laughing over skinned knees and sweaty tears.
My elbow yelling like the Mexican sun.
September shines at night where glasses clink.
Where in my champagne brain a relationship burns. Where we keep it real.
We keep it bright.
We keep it lit.
September happens to us.
As we take walks holding hands.
As we sleep touching fingers.
As we eat each other up with our eyes.
September reminds us when we talk about the past
not to skip pages.
When we want to fall apart
we skip to the end of the series.
When we want to close doors
we peek at the foundation.
When we want to collapse
we share tea.
September is full of clouds layered like a Monet
even when it’s dark.
He holds me in my pain.
Laughs when I fake sleep.
Tells me words that make me cry.
Sings me his songs.
Grabs my thigh through the night.
September holds our kisses over the years.
Smiling in silence.
Living in a dream.
September leaves me sitting at a table.
Standing in a doorway.
Laying in my bed.
Praying to whoever will listen.
September is almost gone.