humid/

humid poem

The summer is warm like the ones we used to consume so fervently

endless sodas and sweat and bedtimes ignored

your sock poking through the rubber in your sneaker sole

the bonfire coming out each pore in the shower.

The summer keeps you young because it always makes you forget that you’re not.

Transported in memory and then returned to your present

wondering where everyone went and who took the balloons down.

Until your new balloons bloom and the blue bursts in the sky again and

you think this is a whole new type of summer and

some of your oldest friends’ faces and quotes blur a little

wispy little clouds in your heart.