Chlorine covered skin, peach suncream.
He is mowing the lawn.
I’m the last solid moment
of ice cubes,
sprayed scent of peeled tangerines.
My face is in the water, no one can see me
marigolds, constellations yet to chart, watch
as he wipes sweat from his brow.
I think we’ll have to live inside rainclouds.
Maybe hide in the wings of butterflies,
become cerulean tiles, August skies.
He takes off his Placebo t-shirt.
Stones blister, woodpeckers drum, brave
soldiers get ready for a fight.
Under the midday sun,
I crave soft strawberry
sorbet, trapped in glass. Pinecones fall
one by one. Counting feline steps
until we kiss behind the pool shed.
Lost in the outskirts of September,
we bleed like grapes into the oak,
holding summer hostage
until he’s mine.
And he never wants me to be gone.