That Monday in August

Lonesome for your ivory peaks, dizzy, giddy, gazing
upon your layers; now a hazy consciousness, purring.
I hold you closer between the clandestine constellations
and the jealous blue moon; daylight and shadows of dusk,
all the intimate moments in the middle; sharing your thunder-
the wonder of us; of him, that Monday in August, on one knee,
me: twirling still, beaming our love story, raining hearts
from the iridescence of your sacred atmosphere.



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