Strawberry Summers

One day everything we do will be perfect, maybe like this:

The devil's promise is all
I can remember
about our lovely summer.

So many midnights in
Rome running around
waiting for stars
that would never
show up on time.

All our confused illusions
painting a new scene in
such an ancient place,
as we laughed with such
tenacity in the streets,
only to smile at all the
strange faces frozen in
that hilarious horror.

Or that afternoon
we were sitting outside
sipping coffee a little
too bitter, and that mad
man walked up to you
with his cryptic message;

"Watch out when she
cries, love never
causes tears so
perfect."

When we just looked
at each other in
confused amazement;
what exactly did
he mean anyway?

The memory book is
covered in a velvet
crush plum color that
reminds me of the shirt
you wore on the plane
trip home.

As hot as the sun was
and long as the days were,
I hope you still think
of it as fondly as I do;

Honestly and truly I
am pretty sure we
fell in love that strawberry

summer...