June 2, 2013

June Second Two Thousand Thirteen

Sun-kissed shoulders and knee caps, the red lipstick kind. A few hours in the afternoon sun, the evening's cool breeze swirling the ringlets on the base of my neck. Amid errands, to-do lists, check-out lines, subway delays, hot pavement, escalators that go up and up and up; small moments strung together. Of warm lips on the top of my nose and cool fingers on the triangle between my shoulders. Melted strawberry cheesecake ice cream and gulps of ice cold water. Summer, a promise to string together the small moments amid and amid and amid. Open windows and the playful jazz notes that come dancing through on Sunday summer nights. Flashes of lightening across the dark, dark sky.






[a promise to string together the small moments amid and amid and amid]

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