The Last Cigarette of Summer

We lie awake under the sycamore.

Intertwined and rooted one leg over the other, respiring.

The cigarette’s smoke envelopes my nose, like your lips to mine.

It’s summer and the birds have never been so loud, the grass bright yet starting to wilt.

You’re leaving soon and we all know it.

We’ve had fun,

We’ve seen the suns saffron fade into blush, wiped tears from drooped eyes, and smelt the airs light summer scent return home to it’s dark hollow well of winter.

Seasons have bloomed and died

but this friendship remains

no matter the horizons tide.