I should've seen you was trouble right from the start

They arrive in a quiet invasion on the night streets of July, silver rims clatter against chain link and the side yard becomes a flashing hall wheels and red lights. Hours have been spent in the deafening sun ducking under aquamarine rooftops filling the ears with wet and the hair with chlorine. In the twilight, natty cotton has been retired for breezy linen. The grip of summer is white knuckled but still fully intact. His face is healed from last weeks tousle with the asphalt and her dress hangs comfortably from her shoulders. The guy with a guitar keeps smoking while the guy with college and wine collects names like Brynne and Cami. They raise glasses and empty them with gusto- over and over. They run forks against porcelain and paper alike and hold hands on the stoops releasing the last heat of daylight beatings. Wishes suspend themselves in the still, still air over their heads and the dogs bark down the alley. This is what they look forward to each February and what they remember sweetly each November.
Then comes the breeze marking two hours until comes the sun, here. With the stirring of Cottonwoods wishes are dispersed, beds are found, lovers are vanquished and the surreptitious day creeps out of gardens and parking lots.