followed by squirrels digging trenches
and girls licking the pavement after falling
off their bikes. The sun kisses the neck
of the tired trees, and hey remember the
night before summer just weirdly ended?
We stopped in at the new Dairy Queen,
where the parking lot is freshly painted
and they appreciate our business.
The basement couch nearly swallowed
us whole, and I giggled loudly even when
that black cat scratched at the window.
The next morning was fanfare and
brimstone; all the houses with triangular
roofs just kept getting taller and it
wasn't until the post-euphoric morning
after that I realized you had not
a single stake in the ground.
The foothills were bare and rolling.
I'm running out of ways to see the
morning but every time I step out the
door I can't help it, it's so goddamn
beautiful and you, and you, you,
that I have to keep on.
The smell of fresh paint helps me to forget:
I'll see you at the winter's circle.
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