Out by the strangletrees in the demonic summer, that's where I lost you. Can't wait for the air to change and I can wear my navy pea coat and hide my stool-pigeon mouth behind wool and steal another quick heartbeat until it melts with the snow. I know I've got one season to believe in when the air is cracked dry like your lips and I can read your breath on the updraft. Maybe when the curse of the summer is over. I could go to some cerulean island where shame punctures this skin to let the stinging sea in.