Summer Fling

We share salt water kisses drenched in tangerine ice
that sting in a good way
but this chili-pepper heat is capricious.

Still: sticky days of saccharine sunlight and cut-off shorts
with strings that dangle tantalizingly
In the way only false promises do.
His nicotine name tumbles from my lips like
grains of sand in an hourglass: slow yet SWift.

We like long walks on the beach,
the sodden sand squelched between my toes, a suffocating reminder
that some things only last until the tide rolls in.

His hair is apple-cinnamon rust and his eyes are caramel, oozing like
hard-rock candy so no, not really melting but crystallized
reflecting my face in the twisted reality fun house mirrors provide.
But I'm drunk on the curve of his smile, how he holds chopsticks
like they're as fragile as the second chance we won't have.

The tabasco sunset soaks our entwined fingers
until the heat fades to a crisp autumn chill
and my tears reunite with the returning tide.

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