Summer's Memory

Remember August, when we met?
It seemed idyllic then, and yet
on looking back I can't recall
the pleasure of that Summer Ball;
just heat, oppressive, like a shroud
that wrapped us and remained unbowed.

And later, as we journeyed from
the hotel to the prom, prom, prom,
the air we had stepped out to take
hung static, heavy in our wake.
Clouds, dark as undertakers, came
to watch you pout and sulk and blame.

In those six weeks we loved and lost,
passions intense, but at a cost
of hearts, of minds, of broken souls,
discarded on the white hot coals
of barbecued emotion. Dust
and ash are all that's left of trust.

Now let gulls scream and sea salt stick,
as sunshine comes to kiss me quick,
and burn away the residue
of summer's memory of you.