And here it is again, Washed in Rain
Drenched in Memories. June.
Big, fat droplets hanging on to
Dark Green Leaves and peeping through
Tangerine coloured monsoon blossoms
An exterminator is coming today
To put to rest some bugs,
and maybe some memories
Of a cold funeral
and the funeral of a wedding
But soon, the wastelands of June will disappear
in it’s own flood
And as I wade, I will carry you dry and safe,
As I have these past 8 years
To live my year
In tears of laughter, in moments of truth,
in old forgotten songs, on my next holiday
A lump in my throat, You will be
My Christmas, My Ouzo, In the spring of
My every victory. 
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