In my humblest woe, I loved you with candor,
Frankly, you were a rare summer wind,
Astonishingly surprising, a fountain’s brush.
You took the air out of my lungs, goosebumps on my legs,
A breath out of the ordinary, for such an 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 were broken up into seasons where
You broke me, the solstice would fall ten times a year,
And it’d probably be because you were the cold summer wind,
Until autumn brushed on your skin.