summer

my hands are slightly sticky
from newly torn grass.
it smells warm–
pleasant even.
then hot tar hits,
extracting air from my lungs
like pulled silk.
throw me in a pool,
neon paint

splatter.

spin me around until night comes,
illuminate me by black-
light,
make me quiver, excite.
release,
mark, and flood the streets.
it’s summer,
others can bathe in color too.

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