Sweat of summer lingers at the nape of my neck
September ushers in cooler air, but not fast enough
She is charming and wounded as we walk uptown
And I am pretending not to be breathless
Which is stupid, I realize, and it's not like it helps
But I space out my laughter to coincide with my lungs' demands
Hoping that she will not notice my panting
Or the flush of my face, red as autumn leaves
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