I sip at my moonlight confessions
whilst the fleeting August winds
dance in the threads
of my dream catcher

Frost bitten winds burnt in the heat
of November celebrations caught up
in our own wizz and whoosh
even sparklers fused with envy
now I only wish
to watch our memories burn

suddenly your words
wilted like dead flowers
when forever never came
whilst mine still break
in gentle sighs of defeat
simply whispering
I shall wait until then,
till I can count on a shooting star

to bring the dreams August weaves
and play September’s song in verses new
to this lonesome heart