when summer writes

Feelings after spending quality time with friends on a front porch til 4 in the morning yesterday.

There is summer

in the refusal of the wind to settle

across our faces, and through our hair

as we sit in fours on a new friend's front porch,

time defining nothing for us.

Summer night is our setting:

We travel to nostalgic stories we didn't know we were crafting at the time

to be touched upon to remember, to read over and over again 

like a favorite novel that never fails its promises.

We dream again of past realities of summers

over the top of temporary lovers' bed sheets,

in the music of heavy breathing, and

in the friction of fingers grasping each other's bodies,

rushing lust for pleasure, fingers found exploring

my very depth,

Summer:

the secret keeper of youth's truth- safe, quiet, touched upon

only through poetics.

there is summer

in nights of carnival lights that sprinkle stars in our warm skies

beneath the boardwalk, our hiding only ours to know,

drowned in laughter inhaling the crashes of ocean mist

cheap natty light beer cheered by our youth,

sand burrying our feet:

our future craves this novelty.

Summers 

of strangers, false friends, familiar homes, drunken, sober words, intended actions,

repeated mistakes, lack and overdose of movements, destructive decisions

we've learned to admire:

a pencil of their own, each set of 24 hours promised in

June, July, August:

our blank pages, summers:

stories inked forever for us.

There is summer 

for us to craft our own

storybook we can read through while we sit on this porch where

streetlamps, and house lights dim through the windows; 

darkness surrounds us, though. Our voices create the brightest

vision of all.

It's summer nights like these that reminds me of the promise of

beauty created by what is hidden in our ability to remember and

our decisions to spill them out to each other,

to write them to each other in smiles

or overdue apologies. 

These are summers that keep on returning

each becoming, and undoing.

I love them all the same. We rise along, 

carry along with summer's return and promised leaving. 

I await your heat every

Fall, Winter, Spring.

Your writing keeps me here.