blush

not the splatter strewn across
your olive-coloured cheeks,
nor the viscous dampness
in your hair
caused by all the hatred launched
from barrels indiscreet,
the horrors of which we
all are too aware;

more the warmth and whimsy
of our prior afternoon,
hands clapsed in the rev'rie
of a fawn,
light and warm and airy
as those flowers of the sun,
those i plucked for you
at rise of dawn.

as we lay together, splayed
on crimson-turning road,
you remark despite
your rasping tone
how your fingers lost their heating
like winter, en't it june
before your sigh told me
i was alone.