summer

I had thought your voice
would echo over the distance
laid out between us.
Seeing you now, a whisper
of another time, I wonder
at how forgiveness tastes
on the tongue; transferred
from your lips to mine.
Seeking the long days
and careless heat of summer,
I lie, comatose, inches from you,
and my mind is set away,
another afternoon, another year
which you wouldn't remember.
Practised in being you,
your insults scratch at my lips
like trapped butterflies,
like a pulse on my tongue,
wanting to scream out
a tirade of fearful freedom.