'Because Summer'

Because Summer       is like  a High School fling;
her  faux-blonde            bun tied    atop her head
wrapped    in    box-braids—wild weave feeding

 

 

 

her  hungry  sunsets.
Because  summer is
cliché,    like cherry

 

 

lipstick      on the salted rim of a shot glass, or a
pair of  suede boots  propped  up on  the dusty
dashboard      of a parked    car in the middle of

 

 

July—traces of hearts
under the  heels, and
ash-brown      fingers

 

 

pointing        upward at  high-vaulted stars in the
humid  room of        night. Because it’s scrapped
knees—      blood  and   dirt        under and over

 

 

fishnets…  an itch; the
distressed  denim of a
bleached        pant leg.

 

 

Because  she’s a pin-up pixie waving at me from
the bitch-seat;      a damn    sunflower, and a rose
at the same  fucking time, and I think I’m jealous.

This poem is about: 
Me

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