Photo via moonjuice
Yesterday Summer showed up at my door. I knew it was her - suitcase full. Full of lanterns and june bugs, berries and bare skin. Sticky and sweet are her ways, soaked are her words.
I think that we are mostly friends, she and I. Following me like a shadow at dusk, and rising with me in the morning.
I can see her behind a jar of tea, I can sense her on the tip of my spoon. Her poetry is moonlight, her breath hovers over asphalt.
We hold hands and run, run until she is called back home.