August comes, and the wound passes. Slow. Thick and bitter, I choke it back. I choke, I choke, I choke. It suffocates; I watch it settle. Mesmerized, I watch you leave. Tire tracks in the driveway your coat still hangs on my door. Ink on pages, I stain my fingers. Scarlet on my hands a book, discarded. Cassiopeia, Ursa Major, Canis Minor. Constellations the only witness of my decay.