Sep tem ber

thegreatestactor:

It’s that time of year

again

when the winds of summer
die hard with

fragrant 
sand-washed
hair

still lingering
on my chest.

As I grasp

for
salted eyes

still glowing in hues
of the Atlantic.

As I
hold out

for the
ebb and flow
of his

fleeting release.

As I wait
to displace

somewhere beyond

September.

36 Notes

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