June

June is a damned month
I dread its arrival
on all of those days
the heat melts the creases on my forehead
I developed while hallucinating about you,
my stretch marks of love
with the will of a steaming iron.
Sweltering sun swallows
the luscious moons
laid on a platter
half or full,
the diamonds of the night
I wear carefully 
on my fingertips
and make music 
on a night consumed by 
the somber silence of longing.