undauntedifly

Drinking mint juleps with a striped straw, empty June lungs soon fill with June bugs and sparkling July promises. Bitter. The air is bitter with June skies and July lightning. We called them fireflies, like tiny beacons to follow home. By September all our leaves had begun to brown and the last of the June bugs had flown South. These empty June lungs breathe summer and taste autumn. The sun sets slower, lingering to glimpse the moon. The fireflies fade out, one by one, candles blown out by turning breezes. We're lost in the dark and tied to each other by red threads. In December the stars glitter like cracked glass and dusty diamonds. Our Jun

My heart beats slightly off-kilter now. It doesn't run anymore, It jogs. It jumps, pauses, sprints and then walks. Up and down my staircase ribs, it stumbles, it slips. It skips, it rattles, it creaks. Remember when it did that the first time? You and I had stayed up all night, talking, discovering. You made me feel like the moon would never give way to the sun. I thought you were a prince in disguise, fairy tale perfect. I didn't know that a loving heart could trip into breaking. I never expected it to feel like falling in love when we were falling out. But looking at you, thinking the things I do, my heart pauses it's marathon, memorizi

The last of our sunsets, days spent adrift in storm-tossed seas, soft moonlight kissing auburn lips, rum coloured eyes drinking spirits, whispering ghosts, tasting autumn on your tongue, a ribbon of sweets, your lip between my teeth.