August

Champagne-gold moonlight.
Queen Anne's lace.
We pass our time together in this
messy messianic maze,
waiting for silk-lined evermores
and folklores of lovers entwined.
You could swoop me off my feet
in a millisecond as if
the years that led to this
were empty and meaningless,
and the last few weeks
were the only days I'd lived.
Our cancer suns in sync,
stars crossed,
we ponder summer odes among
clovers and grassy plots
in overgrown parking lots.
August is the sweetest month now,
salt tides and erratic rains,
my hopes
flying high on paper planes.
It's strange
how misfortune always befalls
happy couples.
Some old witchy curse
on you and I.
August wanes
and it's time for goodbyes.
There'll be talks of
next month or next life,
empty promises and lazy lies.
They say a happy tale
demands a happy ending.
But I hear the wait is near maddening!

Author's Note

I haven't written much or visited this site for a while. I wrote this as a scribble while getting my hair done at the salon but i grew somewhat fond of this little poem. Suggestions are always welcome! I'm sorry if i haven't reviewed anyone back in the past months and i would try my best to catch up. Thanks for sticking by!

Reviews

[Matthew Kult]

Sensitively mad, but aren't we all from time to time. Lovely read.

With love,

Matthew

[jacob erin-cilberto]

Reminds me of an old song: "Will I see you in September?"
Happy Ever After is often a pipe dream.
My folks were married 70 years...and I still ponder how that could happen.

With those Witchy curses and all.
j.

[emmajoygreen]

Perhaps the cores of your fine poem :

'Our cancer suns in sync,
stars crossed,
we ponder summer odes among
clovers and grassy plots
in overgrown parking lots.
August is the sweetest month now,
salt tides and erratic rains,
my hopes
flying high on paper planes.'

Compact: a different mood from its wrap around phrases. Will return to read again, perhaps to see even more of your intention, Moonie,

[Sami Khalil]

You must be proud of your hair and poetry; I guess both are inspirational. Somehow romantic poem. Not your best, but it is enjoyable.