Where Every Scroll is a New Adventure
I sifted through thousands of Faces only wanting to see yours.
Lemongrass in the Summer Sun. Just as bare feet dance so beautifully on the browns of the earth. A water hose then becomes the plaything of two people. Laughing Laughter that can still be heard.
It’s a citrus kinda day,
Sour sweet oranges and yellows,
I am filled with a tingling on my tongue,
And the smell of summer,
I’m alive,
My hands are sticky,
And taste of tangerines,
It is bright out,
But I’m not blinded,
The sun is in my eyes,
But I remembered my sunglasses,
I’m alive
lately, when I think of summer, I think of
being sixteen and overgrown backyards with their old fences and rusted latches that were no match for graceless feet and hands.
warm evenings spent on balconies with our backs pressed to brick or iron, old wood and secrets splintering between us.
breathing in chlorine and lilacs under the rustling shade of a maple tree, and wondering how long you’d smell like home.
long drives and old forts and even older rivers, and the way our legs dangled off the edge of the locks, palms pressed to concrete instead of together.
roadside restaurants and souvenir shops and the way we shared sodas and honeysticks, tasting each other the only way we knew how.
the way you said, “this was fun” and “I’m glad we met,” and the way I asked, “will I see you again?” and all you could do was smile.
lately, when I think of summer, I think of you.
tracking mississippi mud along the richelieu river
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