Amethyst August

She dreamt of an August night,  Red and Blue run across his chest.
Binding his heart to bleed amethyst.

Once, he lied in her lap, sank in the fragrance of sunflowers.             He stretched out upon her, like he was lying on the cool meadow ground of Colorado.

His hand danced in her's and her slender fingers                           Bended and bounded, in his mind.

She never got to kiss him on a starlit August night.                         For the stars, scattered and forever a mess.

He always remains, in the age of twenty-four, and she is no longer the child.

Poem and Art by: Naomi Ruth Waldschmidt