July dives in, clothes and all,
brash and unafraid of his being.
His time is careless, rushed, and
often leaves whisker burn on
a lover’s face.
August is more tentative.
Gently she slips off her socks,
dips a toe, and tests the water.
She knows days will grow shorter,
and the night quieter.
August is mindful of more time
for fireflies, skinny dipping, and
August will always leave
with a tender embrace, promising
Cherish your time with August.
July has already forgotten
what you meant.