summers past

you are drowning in the heat
in the sticky sickly slick of summer

feel the days bead along your arms
your forehead
anywhere that hair falls

you are a child, a babe in arms
eating a plum
on your face
on your pale blue dress
in your white blonde hair
on your delicate toddler tongue
too tart, too delicious
that summery plum

you are young, dancing on the lawn
cartwheeling over sprinklers
lying on hose-sodden earth
licking water from blades of grass
ants on the daisies, on your arms.

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Basically, I deal in words.

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