Summer's end

Rain hammers on windows before the hurricane.

I fling open the wardrobe where summer still hangs; scented with perfume and sunscreen,

translucent silks and satins, a soft voile dress, the colour of July’s sky,

the yellow skirt and cream blouse I first met you in and the spell was cast

like embroidered flowers that vine up the wine-stained cheesecloth.

I shake dusky ribbons of mint-green espadrilles, silted with sand.

Window panes rattle as I roll

candy-striped skinny jeans like seaside rock.

Billowing gun-metal clouds tear apart

as quickly as my heart did.

I remember your burnished look at my gold strappy maxi

With its thigh-high slit.

Your blue eyes gilded me better than treasure,

undressed me faster than this hurricane hits the house.