“So I went by –
cause I had the time,
and told the northern lights
to keep shining.”

The Twenty-Fifth Summer
by me

Five fifteen and the humidity slides
down the windows, clinging
to the back of my knees.
on that little bend,
right above your lips,
punctuated by a rose-colored smile.

This could be the beginning,
a little ripe, fresh and new.
Isn’t it always those first conversations,
the careless, accidental touch,
skin on skin?
Isn’t it all just that?

We share the last chair at the station,
you lift the lid of your lemonade to steal a shock of coolness,
the ice melts on your tongue,
you show me, sticking it out at me,
between words that breeze past anything
or heard before.

I wonder if it would sound ridiculous to say
I’m falling.

You pull out a pale yellow envelope
folding a letter unseen,
lipstick staying behind after you seal it away.
My eyes linger on the markings.
I lose track of the tune of a song
playing through overhead speakers.

If you get to know me in a many years past
kind of way,
you will realize I have no sense
of timing.
I forget punchlines, and where my
feet should land.

Maybe you will find it all precious,
memorable and sweet.
Or, perhaps you will use them later,
in the heat of anger, as defense,
turning them into a sharply honed weapon.

Either way I will look back and see:
the glimpse of green in your light brown eyes,
the way you chew the end of your straw,
frayed ends of purple shoe laces,
the smell of your hair, lemon and mint,
and the way our voices
until the train finally arrived.

Amber Waves :: Tori Amos

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