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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…
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Sometimes those little rays are all we get…
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