Hail, July!
I’m so sorry that I will not be able to sing you tonight the song you deserve. My senses dulled by beer are Junish or Augustish instead. But I tell you, July, that we met Stacy, a beautiful Californian girl with that disgusting accent called American. And we will never lay eyes on that black hair and blue eyes again, July, for no contacts were exchanged. Yet, dear month, yet… it couldn’t have been more perfect, the encounter. I will use her as a Muse. Do you mind, July? It was you who introduced her to me, wasn’t it? Doll faced, doll shaped, doll dressed Stacy on her doll’s make-up will be more in the written form than she will ever actually be! (No, no, July! Misunderstand me not! I wish her a better future than all my capacity of writing it down... or do I?). Yes, Humberto, thank you too for the lovely night out after work. Ah, that disgusting accent! Muses should not talk; just look you in your eyes!
Hail, July! You’re the seventh month, but you know you really are primus inter pares!
