It's August already, the sun is walking away. It's had enough of light on green leaves and hot white sand. And I'm missing you while you're still standing in front of me, because I know I'll never live through the winter that's coming. I'll never live to see you in jeans and a sweatshirt, shivering in the cold autumn wind.
But I know your precious breath will sustain me, it's not that far off, your warm sweet tongue, your body pressing mine. Come October, we'll be together.
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