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  • Fruit of the Summers
    16 Jul 2004

    The drumline taps
    along with my foot
    Feeling the beat
    of my heart
    that echoes the memory
    of that brown haired girl
    with those clover-green eyes
    who stole my soul
    all those years ago

    I question why she stays in my head
    that girl who ate me out
    ate that soft tender inside where I kept all my secrets
    and spit them right out.

    That summer, high out over the beach
    The summer of the Dragonfly
    which floats on air, grass, and sea,
    I learned the word of hope
    and smell of salt and sand.
    Not of sweat, though, not of love or sex or tenderness
    of which was forbidden.

    I see it there, now
    in the Summer of the Crow
    where I can pull it
    off the tree
    it rots
    and fades.
    I can drink it
    from cupped hands
    that lose liquid down
    tender necks
    but caught
    by eager tongues.