The next installment of our speaker's journey is full of memories and rain and is yours for the reading at Burlesque Press:
The rains come now, every day, at four.
They tell me that you will be flying in soon,
for a wedding which we were to attend
together, stealing kisses inbetween
vows spoken and lost in the humid air
on empty ears. I will not be there, heat
and your presence are just too much for me
at the end of June, water threatening
with clockwork accuracy, clouds swooning
and black in the too blue sky, and hanging
thunderheads high, glinting golden shadows,
foreshadowing the lightning that will come.
read the rest here!
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