— Raymond Douillet

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See, that’s what the app is perfect for.

Sounds perfect Wahhhh, I don’t wanna

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Raymond Douillet

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By August, we are sluggish with love and slide two / barrettes into the night of my hair. Like twin fireflies. / Like rabbit feet dyed blue and downhearted, stamping / the side of my head. July’s shadow is almost rot / and we haven’t spoken in days. I play pool with Mik / and count the ways he sinks ball after ball while I await / the doom of going second, soon regret letting him break. / I bet on this game. I bet on the waning of light, fame. I know / most things dim. It’s hot when I leave the bar and I say / Come, sun, you muscular star, thinking heatstroke / might strike this state of weather from my heart. / The trigger of seasons, the treasons of these city streets. / Orchard and Broome. We loom. We make reasons and room / for why things can’t work; we lurk into autumn. / We warm our hands for October’s plume. We say soon, soon, / soon something will be revealed. We fool no one / and are no one’s fool, least of all the late summer gods / who know a burn, who rope in hope, who prepare us / for a meal of dead light. In August, I want snow. I want July. / Midsummer prophet sight. Belief. Faith. A cathedral / with all her weight. A winter love. A new year. / A regal infancy. A Sunday, born.

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Source: open.spotify.com unknown / nth lryics cover art

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