Month to Month.

This is the end of what I thought. These days the closest thing to me is these days.
We were in early June when he asked.

Could you share a story?

Haven't I been?
Not entirely.
Well, what are you looking for?
You.

July is here without invite. Turning back are hours that cannot be seen, valued.
Without depth, darkness isn't imaginable. In me there is feeling only.

An emptiness that maybe I have
slept through then and now.

What is left is all I got.

So I will pull my panties off to finally tell you how afraid I am.
Afraid I've waited to inhale. Afraid I will always be waiting on myself.