Late Summer.

 

I asked for your name, you gave me your number.
That was late spring, now it’s late summer.

You were a dancer, I was a runner,
and where I liked being lonely, you found it a bummer.
That was late spring, now it’s late summer.

You smirked when I used words like yall or yonder.
You were more than my trophy, I was less than your hunter.
Yet in time you seemed to grow less encumbered.
That was late spring, now it’s late summer.

And the sky wants to rain, but I can’t hear thunder.
and my appetites moan, but there’s no real hunger.
I knew I’d get older, didn’t know I’d get dumber.
When did frustration suffocate wonder?
Was it late spring, or was it late summer?