Clover Poem by JAY WALK

A fulminant wake drenched by warm breaths against the cheek
Of skins pressed together, tense, but calm holding
Yellow dreams, that make tomorrow seem bleak.


Books that last lifetimes swept over like dust upon a golden globe,
Ancient engines woken from slumber, slaving for the
dainty goddess in an amber robe.


Sparkling eyes and hot screens waiting
Once again for the night parade,
Their tender hopes perched upon balloons ever deflating,
Wondering why the commander's voice has bayed.


Summer wars, of voice and colour,
called upon girls uncouth by
Families aghast at short skirts and that one broken fling,
Answered with determination
and joy:
They've yet to woo the Goblin King.


Memories of lives unknown, kisses silenced, and observations keen
Accompanied by one sweaty night, one gasp, one final decree:
Thus summer, it has been; and
Summer it is, that sets us free.