July October

When I wrote poems in October
You kissed my fingers
With permission to write
And all such verses formed their allegiance to you
With those poems in October
Not once did I stutter
The blurbs and ramblings of uneasiness
Nor did you hear stories of when
My senses went mute and numb
And brown eyes and skin tear into a revelation
Your stillness suffocates pulse called “togetherness”
After those poems in October, the rains followed.

If July could be romantic,
With radio of medley and preoccupation
And disturbance and defeat
Instead, you compose with chalk of new
Erotic lullaby of visits
Drenched in July
Thrusts swallowed on vanilla tea tenderness
Pepper our time with futures pure
In oil
Blinded by glares of sunrise and confession, singed
From hostile observation
Remedy your tension
With ginger kisses
And blend violet forgiveness
I wish I could hold on to this feeling
With knowing and youthfulness
Forced impishly into a jar
When I start to fret and demand answers with abrasive conclusiveness
I will dip my fingers into that jar
Smooth on reassurance
Let it tingle like aloe or cotton
Sting like witch hazel and assign the astringent of confidence
Air out the cuts and gashes of misdirected angst
Engage in the refreshing ritual
I will sign the heat in July
Dress my penmanship with the rains of October
And I will love you
With calendared devotion
All the months of the year

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