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summer loving


Hello Sunday Polaroid of the Beach

I had this dream that I would, could, write poetry. That I would sit on the sand and all of the moments I want so long to relive but can’t, all of the sighs, the questions, the uncertain answers, all of it would just be there, one hundred million grains, immeasurable, and all I would I have to do is scoop it up, let it all slip through my fingers.
I want to kiss you, he had said. I nodded, but I was mute. He kissed me, and the straw-like grass tickled my bare back. I don’t remember his lips, even the shape of his face, the hair, just the feeling of sun on my head, the burn on my part.
I would bury myself in it. All of it, the sand, would rub against me, into me, make my skin tingle. It would be cool and heavy on my chest, even in the sun.
I didn’t kiss him back, but he kissed me for a while and then I suppose he left. I remember squealing and laughter, children obviously, as I nestled into the grass, planted my heels into the sand. I had sunglasses on but I closed my eyes and listened to the seagulls cry.
I would walk into the water, patches of dry sand stuck to my legs like scabs. Then I would emerge out of it, exfoliated, glowing. A rhyming couplet would follow.

Find out more about this Hello Sunday love.

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