before leaving
I.
I, with the lazy mist of memory,
embrace the language of
the softening summer:
sleepily delicate in its petaled shadows
and so faithfully golden by beauty’s tongue,
rising sun returns to cresting bright surf.
II.
this summer smells like
snapping the green husks
from an ear of sweet corn
and slipping off the silk
this summer tastes like
past laughter and desires fogged by nostalgia,
like your lips
on mine
-MWE
8 September 2001
