These days, these long 
summer days, 
that swoon to offer 
memories in fistfuls. 

Each moment, 
a bright and blissful 
jewel of ecstasy, 
etched effortlessly, 
into the time-keepers 
kaleidoscope stone. 

Luscious and lustful, 
the sun gives a heady smile, 
grinning at the first sight of June.
Tripping blonde rays over 
green pools of fresh cut grass – 
and us, laughing, while small birds 
gift their morning secrets.

It is here, in this, I know, 
that for one season of high glory,
we are saloon sinners, 
pistol pretty cowboys, 
drowsy on honey-red whiskey. 

Bountiful beasts, 
bursting from 
hedonist feasts. 
Troubadours, 
guiding hymns from 
other worlds. 

We are the ever-ready
saints of indulgence, 
sent to drink down 
the pleasures of flesh, 
love-drunk, kissing only 
where the perfume rests. 

Waiting for the dizzy, 
ditzy, dusk to bring its 
deep orange homeward.