There's always a chance of Indian Summer

by amy sharp


It's not September.
I feel like the year was a blur.
And you were a part of this.
Summer is pulling her skirt down.
It's always sad.

It's not September.
It just can't be.
I just learned how to love the vibration of heat.
The way I walk around with amber light halos.
I just let the last chance of a year out of my heart.