Rushing through lusty August towards
A vault of blue, a longing promise.
It is like waiting for the visiting moon,
The day when the silver light shimmies past
My bedroom curtains, and I will look up
And I will feel the burning of the heart.
Mist will pour down from the Sun
And the same mist will fall from my mouth.
I will no longer be in need and
It will all sliver pass me.