I lie awake listening to ice cubes cackling to life upon water in the dark kitchen
It is a familiar sound, in this July heatwave: vivid, cool, unapologetic, refreshing
like the way you say the word “fantastic,” with that tricultural accent, thick tongue
somewhere between eighty degrees and a hundred and four, I became addicted
we met at the end of spring, and I know you will be my summer as long as I play
my cards right, with shaky, juvenile hands, no risky moves, only place safe bets
do not get your hopes up, beginner’s luck, stop thinking about when September
will come and the nights will cool down, and the days will get too short for just me
but I should not regret having made you my warm nights, flip-flops, secret drives
your wounded finger from blending frozen mangoes with cookie butter ice cream
talks of trips we will never take, kisses in that car you are so proud of, yes you
will be my summer, at the very least - you can see my hand if you show me yours.
Comments