In my other life, summer’s a superhero:
here in a moment and larger than life.
274 days spent waiting for
7,862,400 glorified moments of chalk-covered sidewalks,
red-checked picnic blankets, and
clouds of blue barbecue-smoke
that stretch and disappear across bluer skies.
39 weeks for
2,184 hours of asphalt-stained toes, and
iced-tea kisses, and
sunlight
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Apparently not. lol.
THIS IS WHY I DON'T DO "POETRY", BECCA. IT'S BAD NEWS.
[The end. I just needed to get that out. Thanks for lending your comment so I could vent in a reply. :D]
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