Summer sits on my
tongue in the
leisure of light

slips through an open
door re-minding me
above the geometry

of our love’s iterations,
in this motion
of ephemera that

you carry me toward
the night, release me,
form around me as I

bestow nothing, only
in the moment of you
– now weightless-

suspended by silken
dreams in a central-self
of my own divergence

discovered in tangents
of their own intercourse
and resolution as

quotidian sun and moon
contemplate shorter
days approaching

in the lonely
glance of autumn.

© K. James Ribble