Late September

A poem about love, loss and trickery.

Late September

     

It's unlikely you remember
that cool date in late September
when you promised to return in a year.

Now the month is almost over;
not a sign of you in Dover.
"Did you forget your solemn promise dear?"

Was I just a passion filled
by an actor so unskilled
that he forgot his lines as soon as it was done?

Or did you just throw out a lie
as you said your last goodbye
knowing you had enjoyed your bit of fun?