I had forgotten how suffocating summer can be,
how it creeps up and over shoulders,
backs,
hands,
extending tendrils with feigned nonchalance
allowing us the choice of un-seeing.
she found me lying beneath a tree, twirling
fingers in the air
half-heartedly mapping an escape route, losing
the words as soon as they passed my lips.
of course I knew:
if I allowed summer to devour me whole there
would be no more pretending that I wasn't
already disappearing
that I couldn't feel myself pulled by the suction
of your absence,
your maybe-never-being,
your bending of time and space and truth and
truth and truth.
no, I'd rather let what was left of my frame,
sinews, and bones descend.
a sadder, softer exit.
the epitaph would read
here she lies,
swallowed
by the 7th of June.
the heat stole her
without much struggle.