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
A message on my answerphone, from a voice I've never heard, has left me full of yearning as I hang on every word. For my messages are usually, in truth, a bit mundane;
Sitting quietly, alone for once, I feel the warm bruise of your departure and am glad that you came close enough to cause it. I send messages to you on dandelions