Fingertips Poem by Tanja Bulovic

I remember that summer clearly,
dripping its sweat in the streets.
Trees were dying and birds were leaving,
people were dreaming of sleep.

I remember the air was heavy,
I remember so were we...
Dripping harsh words by the dying trees,
blaming the heat and the dreams.

I remember you said something strange -
that you needed a steady hand
to pull the trigger or touch my neck,
but I don't recall what you did.