Golden Hour

I remember the way you placed your hands on the left side of my jaw when we kissed. You shone right through my dirty, stained-glass heart. 

I looked to you and saw a crimson shine. 
It was golden hour in August; you were reminiscent of the sky. 
And I heard the song of our love waltz with the trees
You felt like home

But now I claw at the sun and sky
Crying out to God, asking ‘why’ 

I’m still drunk in your affection and it burns straight to my head. 
But could you return because this is not how we were supposed to end.