by lonewolfpoetry

I often think of that time between May and June,

that time between me and you.

When you made me my very best

and I made myself my very worst.

You clouded my judgment, drew torpid storms

over my once sound logic.

I made a soggy blanket out of your hurricanes

and let you fuck me up.

But I chose the blue skies, after a while.

They are empty but expansive

and I can stretch.

And I do not forget. I cannot forget.