Summer

Summer dug up its stakes in a flourish of salty skin.
The letters you send me are tucked away in a fold of my brain I leave untouched.
The leaves on the ground fall deep into the concrete,
The rain melting their crunch.
The book you read a thousand times is pushed deep under my bed and I ignore any trace of you.
You are on my bookcase,
My sheets,
My clothes, and more frequently, my mind.
Autumn continues to run through me, while I stay still,
Pondering the shape of your jaw and the warmth of your mouth.
I know the thought of me torments your idle mind when you sleep at night.
I feel you reach for me,
Fingertips slightly out of reach,
An infinite stretch that strains your back.  
But my hands beg for you, too
And yours for me,
So we fight the good fight and our sides ache in unison.
The letters stop coming,
And the scent of you leaves my mouth,
But your bitter taste still remains.
Your rotting smile I turn over and over in my mind.
Winter pushes its heels into my neck and forces me to wonder,
Did my letters stop sending?
Did you stop stretching for me, too,
Is my scent stagnant in your brain?  
Spring rolls by in a string of bad fortune and Summer comes around once again.
I find that Summer,
No longer smells of Summer,
But instead, of you.
I take down your books,
Your letters,
Your scent,
Your shape.
I rid myself of you in one harsh shake,
And your outline is pushed out of my brain in a swift flick of the wrist.
Goodbye, Summer.
Goodbye, you.