Party Down

August is the last kiss before she leaves.
The last part of you that in magic believes.
Blue and white bikini and her black hair wet.
That smile, this love, these days, place the bet
that she will stay, that love will grow,
and that August won’t pass into the fall we don’t know.
The night is humid and sultry and filled with booze,
and as you lay her down, as you kiss her, what is their to lose?
The stars the bridemaids to a momentary paradise and loss,
and the moon the priest that seals the deal in pentagram and cross.
The distant music, the hotness of her skin, the belief it will last.
The night sweet in the coming burns your eyes when it become the past.
Spin the galaxy like she did spin the bottle like the sun spins the earth.
Regret is a paradise reclaimed and made holy in divine curse and infernal worth.
If I could but be there again, falling asleep in her embrace, my head against hers,
to let go of the high and mighty ways of my anger and the joy it lashes out and defers.

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