Laughter drips off of ice cream cones
And trickles over pinky promises
Melting into nights that smell like summer
But feel like fall
And slippery skin from sprinkler summers
Dries like wavy sun-streaked hair
Collage cut-outs of high-heeled careers
And ken doll boyfriends with race car souls
Imaginary scrapbooks of a crayon-colored life
Juice box promises and secret-code oaths
Locked away with origami records
Beneath shrouds of sleeping bag secrecy