Sitting Up With Summer

‘I’m sorry,’ you whisper in the dark, 

when my skin milky white under my T-shirt 

was easy to see, 

was harder to touch. 

‘It’s just us, for now,’ 

save your tears for later. 

Your heat is so thick, I can taste it. 

Blankets on the blacktop. 

Sweat in my lungs. 

You’re asleep because it's August and 

the birds outside are singing for you. 

‘Why are you drinking?’ 

The longest days are behind us, 

orange juice and waffles, please. 

my lips are white against your finger 

how incriminating is the silence of breathing? 

It’s getting louder now and 

the black-eyed Susans have wilted 

the sunset is pouring down the sky, 

blink and you’ll miss it, 

the most beautiful things were always the most temporary. 

you called me ‘honey’, 

they call me ‘butch’ 

and you say to wear it proudly,

but all my bumper stickers are just band-aids, 

the blood trickles down anyway. 

She always used to whistle in the morning 

I can almost hear it now.