It pours

It was the stretch of dreams & in-seams
that gleamed & glimmered in dusk;
the husk of a far gone morning turned,
churned to butter and biscuits.

Theirs was a popsicle love,
full and fleshy at first lick - a summer of promises to keep
but seeping and sickly, wilting come August day.
Stuck like rice glutened hands, palms coated,
Fingers greedily devour,
                                     but come the final hour,
                                                                         washed clean of their undoing.

Theirs was an umbrella love,
hushed by showers & pools of sweet nothings, dewdrops of
tenderness
until
      the rain
                  pours
                           no longer...
and the heart fails to grow fonder,
my sun-dried tomato love.

copyright 2012 Yue Yuan