Transition

Charcoal marshmallow skies
ache my bones with her weeping.
Purple shadows intrude slant-wise
across a staccato ceiling, contrast
of yellow mustard crust
noticeable only now to a freckle
of a fly, two hairs from my face.

Wind rolls a tired sigh through hallways
and I swallow a stiff swallow.
Freckle dissolves in my bile.
I wade in silence
and ponder
if this rule applies to all,
(If I consume, it will burn).

His throaty flutters send a rush
to the veins in my extremities.
I laugh up all the sunshine,
little wings on the end of my exhale,
"Oh summer's end...
summer's end".