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It could have been August
I guess.
It seemed later though,
The first time your lips brushed mine.
A butterfly even, shedding forever
Its only innocence.
We had little, didn’t we?
A touch, a moment, a ray.
The light pierced like a ray.
We thought we were alone.
She wasn’t supposed to be —
Ah! But! It’s not —
(what you think).
(it was though, wasn’t it?
E., we did, you said…
Did you…?
Mean…?
It…?)
But I was wrong.
It’s September, and we’re gone.
It never happened, she said,
And she was right.
It never did.
It could have E., if…
Destructive Anachronism 
Sometimes those little rays are all we get…
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