Summer Worshipper Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

Let me give you this summer as a gift.
It'll never come again with such hot bliss.
Let me feel your pulse racing against your wrist.
It'll never feel the same; we'll coexist.
And in time, life will flatline; become static.
We'll live in shadows, each a nesting doll...
Pushed further back from our real selves, tragic
Isn't it lifeless and banal?
The future will be after this summer.
Let's dovetail like well-made furniture.
Burn on a campfire until stars grow duller,
Brighter by design; leave a worshipper.
In me, a parched breath breathes as if for you.
As if after today, all else is lost, subdued.