Summer Love

Summer Love. Her skirt white as silk billowed in the breeze of fragrance, costly as the boats in the bay, danced passed me a zephyr of summer love. Sky blue eyes looked beyond me and far; a ripple of contented laughter followed her. She wore an exquisite aroma of splendour, the holy who don´t know the price of bread. So white her smile, so red her lips. She entered a Lamborghini, golden tanned its driver was, and she was hit by arrows of love She sat in her room, her dress crumbled, tears ran down her rosy chin, she, a seamstress with a borrowed dress, had flown too near the sun, a butterfly with broken wings and lost illusion.