We went to July's funeral and you danced in the smoke from the pyre, your hands weaving arabesques, your feet tracing the summer tide in the ashes and sand. And the heat lightning jumps from star to star, and the fireflies drift from tree to tree. And the river hisses on the sand, and your eyes reflect the summer moon.
And we twirled a dark waltz along the shore, my arm around your waist, feeling the black crepe and the sweat, and the eagerness of your breathing. And I can't wait to kiss you, but I'm making the moment last....
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