The leaves on a willow tree sweep the sand on sugar beach,
like the sugar high I get before our bodies intertwine.
I remember the heat, the way empty lounge chairs under pink umbrellas told stories of mid-day, mid-week melodies.
News reports call for a thunderstorm by Friday twilight,
Friday crowds of people moving with a skip in their steps knowing it's almost time to come alive.
He told me to come to him but all I got was silence when I called.
He tells me all the time about the beautiful things we should do, yet disappears when the hour comes.
What can I do about the man? I'm not too close to it to cry about it over wine.
Not much else to do but sigh and smile at the words he writes, the lies disguised as honest excuses.
Floor to ceiling mirror - creating a mirage making the room seem bigger.
Rose gold glass, dark red wine. He's singing sweet tales about tomorrow.
Standing on the Scarborough Bluffs, the waves crashing miles below.
Tomorrow came and I walk alone through parks, dark tunnels.
Porch step beer with old family friends, talking about the fears of men and the sand women create to stick their heads safely inside.
The equinox brings the beginning of Autumn, already there is a chill in the air.
Cemetery summer days were just yesterday, and was the last of hot winds.
The names on the graves settling down for the violence of winter, not to forget the gentle grace of fallen leaves.
He speaks of dinnertime plans, an idea of lazy comforts watching him play video games -
or maybe I'll take control and become his fortnight queen.
I'm down by the river, water levels are low.
The sun begins to fade by 5 o'clock letting the shine sparkle between the shade of trees.
I exhale the breath I knew better not to hold.
He's not going to call.
I think it's best I leave
Leah, such a great write...................................................
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Wow! Great poetry, Leah. You may like to read my poem, Love And Iust. Thank you.