A summer romance, under the oak. The sun cuts through the leaves, finding it's way down. Trickling onto the tips of my hair, down my arm to the top of my fingers. Caressing me like a first love, cajoling me into happiness. Iram.

An hour? Damn, that monster of yours knows how to run. Our heads turn to the rover parked out front. Men and your toys, she says. I swear to god, that thing in between your legs and your cars. I forget what she says after that. Shy, timind, Iram. Her reference takes me by surprise.

She, with her tied back hair. Her big round eyes that eat me up. Her eyes and ears and knees and toes. Oh, head, knees and toes, knees and toes! And so once again, I flex the muscle within, ready it for another pounding and plunge back in to it. Right back into love.

And all is swell, all is sweet. There are pancakes for breakfast, walks on the beach. On rainy days, there's coffee by the window. Games of scrabble, games in bed. Books are torn through. And now I sleep, and now I wake. Dum di da dum, let's have those banana pancakes. Dum di dum, mhm, hmmm, ha! Irr, ir, irr, irru, ram pam, iram.

And, then: Breakfast is a quiet affair. Toast and tea. Accompanied by a side of screeching silence, broken only momentarily by could you pass the sugar? Or the butter. Or the knife, I'd like to cut open my veins and be done with it. IRAM!

A vase is broken, flying objects dodged. Iram, my partner in love, my happiness under the oak. Goodbye.