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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

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  • HOME
  • ABOUT
    • SUBMISSIONS
    • IN PRINT
  • OLD LOVERS
  • LITTLE BLACK BOOK
    • A NOTE FROM THE EDITORS