your porch swings early evening into tonight, my memory recording every moment. twilight cuts shadows into every corner as my own words shadow the evening without having to leave my thoughts. you’re quiet still. still as lonely as i’ll be in a few weeks. still as slow dances to sinatra. i ask for your hand to dance and our hands made soft shadows that i’ll never forget. as hard as i’ll try, i’ll never forget. because my memory is funny sometimes. it goes against my wishes and now i’ll have to deal with the image of you in my arms dancing slow, fading like a whisper, making the rest of the summer unbearable. if my memories were whispers… and if my days were fewer between…