Falling for her was like summer rain,
First drizzle, then hurricane;
With thunders, with lightning, heavy and fast,
Meant to dishevel, but never to last.

Being with her was an autumn fire,
Vibrant and quiet, a bright red desire.
For she was fresh coffee brewed in the morning,
And you were vodka down her throat burning.

She was Sundays sleeping in with your T-shirt on,
She was nights spent late, talking ‘till dawn,
But you were bare feet on cold ground,
An old toy in a box of lost and found.

Falling out of love with her
Was made of details in a blur.
A door slammed, a few regrets,
Late nights buried in cigarettes,

Voices breaking, ‘could have been’s,
Driving off roads made of dreams.
Her, a wild tale without age,
You, who loved her page by page.

You can visit Dixie at: MyDropsofJupiter.wordpress.com

Lara Wilson

Lara Wilson

Editor at NY Literary Magazine
Lara holds a B.A. in Comparative Literature. She's a native New Yorker, an after-school English tutor, and a bookworm.
Lara loves photography and horseback riding.
Lara Wilson

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