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Description
I know July like the back of my hand.
Reds blues and golds
splattered
across the black sky, lighting up the night,
shaking our ear drums.

I try to ignore the colors but
they are painted all over our faces
and bodies
Our voices are broken
instruments
straining to play a properly heard note against
the beat of July's drums

I notice your mouth
open, probably to catch the colors,
to take home with you and keep them
for yourself

But then you lean over, lift up my chin
to take my mouth into yours
to give me some of those colors of which

I've already forgotten.

Description
I know July like the back of my hand.
Reds blues and golds
splattered
across the black sky, lighting up the night,
shaking our ear drums.

I try to ignore the colors but
they are painted all over our faces
and bodies
Our voices are broken
instruments
straining to play a properly heard note against
the beat of July's drums

I notice your mouth
open, probably to catch the colors,
to take home with you and keep them
for yourself

But then you lean over, lift up my chin
to take my mouth into yours
to give me some of those colors of which

I've already forgotten.