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summer
may is like the yolk of an egg wrapped around the world nourishing the soft wet ground so that we can come out with feet firm and ankle braced for every day that comes after the day that hurt us before june, I am naked on the street cornered by summer fevers ready to play hooky everyday ready to fuck a stranger every other warm weeknight but there is something sweet about you after I put my clothes back on the way you tell me this is all you have to give winds change, it’s thicker stories are like trading cards trading paws, you hold onto me this woman wants to know where I bought you your ring I’ll laugh about this forever and tell anyone who listens you tell me that you can smell me on you like you’ve got me bottled your spare bedroom is hot august is like a little brother pestering and lovely, longing to be bigger, tougher colder, but just so soft I say love about everything the back of your neck, the spot above your junk where I like to put my tongue the sweat stains on the sheets but I can’t seem to say love to you, even pushed against the shower wall sweat of the afternoon pours down the drain, I keep my mouth shut strawberries bleed in my mouth they’re good, but not june good I drive through the Sourlands smell the old loam and late summer hay I see your face poised nervous, but you’re better at this I hear the words before you even open your mouth |
