Might

The bittersweetness of the month called May.

In the month of May

he asked me if he might have the dance

i couldn't say a word, a single sound

so he took my hand and spinned me round

in the open golden field,

under no clouds at all,

with birds saying goodbyes,

and crickets' pretty cries,

we danced till the red sun

drowned in the warm night.

his steps were clumsy,

but his grip was hard.

i couldn't help but laugh.

look at us, two dummies dancing

with no music to be heard,

no soul to be seen. just him and me.

he started whistling, making a dog run away.

i couldn't help but cry,

silently in his sweaty shirt till i lost my sight

knowing this was our last night.