I used to always feel nostalgic about love during summer. I think the kisses I had in a little park with my first boyfriend made it that way. I would lay with my head on his chest and he’d lazily draw a blade of grass over my shoulder, then slowly along my neck then gently over my ear, finally making me giggle and turn away. And we’d do that for hours. So innocent. So perfect. So sweet.
Lately, I’ve been hugging summer close to me, stretching out in its warm embrace and letting it romance me like I was fourteen again. It isn’t always easy to move towards the present, to really be in it and let go of the past, but once you have life feels as it was meant to.
It feels like the sun can make its way to me without any need for someone else to improve it or a song to score the sunset so I can enjoy it or a book to describe the feeling for me or lover to whisper in the night and tell me what it really is.
No, it’s just seeping into my skin and heart, fully saturated with ripe possibility.
The sun bleaches all the bruises–
sweat hard, forgive the sun
she’s a guest here, she’ll be gone.
Moon gives you blue light
just blue light with no strings–
hold it in, let it go with your lungs
at ease at last in bed alone.
lazy as a cat on a couch
coy and calling in a bowl of berries
you sit down too
content it’s only you.