The Months

The months have been bitter, darling, turning over in the distance. I would rather that there were streams to dangle my feet in, since we are now in warm fruition. Still what current does not run at the pace of your heart? At times, I am simply watering you down to dreams, and I am embarrassed to make such a paltry version. And you say 'go, go you are exhausting,' which I am, although I really have gone, ambled off. Now, swimming through the lilies between your heart beats, I can see little parts of myself resolve in the open air; sometimes dignity sneaks up on you.