And this is where we lived. All summerlong. We came and went into the city at our feet, feeling rich and adorned by its constant buzzing din; a choir of daylight driven feet and a glittered midnight symphony of raw joy. Joy in the rise and fall, in the ability to make it or be broken here in this real city. And if we can do it here.
So we did it there all summerlong. You were comfortably mine and I, yours. Ferry rides and weekend escapes infused us with the nurture of nature. You holding my half-summer-sweatered wheaten hand, I feeling you like strong rope. I was a sail which took you higher, farther, faster, brighter. You were the anchor which kept me ground bound and beating like a pulse, my flesh hot for your touch always.
The black lacquered door held behind it a dreamworld. One which does not exist now, a Shangri-La you will seek in your later years when you realize I was not a mirage of emblazoned days- your saving drop of crystal water.
Now the turn key twists into the abandoned gold abyss and there is no more of our tryst behind that door. You sought autumnal success to spring into your winter ages secure. The only cure was everlong always summer.
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