smells of chlorine
and freshly mown grass, still.
Our laughter melting each day,
a golden grace of pinky swears
and crossed hearts.
Spilling wine sweet secrets,
we rinsed away the bitter bite of dark hours
with naive tongues.
Strangers, then sisters,
then strangers again,
we promised the constancy of stars,
and yet as greens burnt to golds,
we gave away pieces,
too heart scarred to hold tight,
and soared as sparrows into the crisp autumn air.