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,
temperatures cooler,
and the night quieter.
August is mindful of more time
for fireflies, skinny dipping, and
seductive whispers.
August will always leave
with a tender embrace, promising
to return.
Cherish your time with August.
July has already forgotten
what you meant.

j.g. lewis