Spring in the South

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Dried flowers fell from our fingers,

As we sipped watermelon juice on a Saturday morning.


My creativity craved caffeine,

So we bought iced almond milk lattes.


You emptied the sugar jar into your cup,

I liked mine sharp and velvety.


A tie dye blanket floated upon grass,

Dogs chased branches and owners chased dogs.


Passenger’s voice hung thick in the humid air,

And I watched you paint blank paper with your mind.


I told secrets to my journal about things that I felt—

things that I felt should only touch paper,

not lips,

or ears.


I chewed on cinnamon roasted pecans until the inside of my cheeks callused,

You preyed on peaches until your saliva became nectar.


Sweat slithered down my nose and pooled between my thighs,

but I didn’t move.


I stayed and I sweat,

and I wrote the date in the top right hand corner of my journal.