in my humblest woe, I loved you with candor
frankly you were a rare summer wind
astonishingly surprising, a fountains brush

you took the air out my lungs, goosebumps on my legs
a breath out the ordinary, for such a open season
you were colder than most could believe in
a bohemian, bummer bar.

right after bumper car adventures

it was mid July and we’d tumble/fall into a vivid scent

maybe that’s why they call them somersaults

i’d tailgate the rubber off your miniature go kart

we’d laugh, and bump into each other

like that one day, we met…
If summer was broken up into seasons where
you broke me, the solstice would fall 10 times a year
and it’d probably be because; you were the cold summer wind
until autumn brushed on your skin