Tagged: southern summers

leaning in ever

leaning in ever
so slightly over the pool
of cicada songs,

a ripple in the reflection,
an asynchronization
.
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there are theories that

there are theories that
know nothing about temptation,
sitting on the front

porch, ice-cold tea against the
brow, waiting for the next breeze
.
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y

we are chiseled from

we are chiseled from
those southern
summers – hot
discipline captured
by a lone breeze
of freedom, swept
away from admonishing
looks, my brother
and i, our sun-darkened
skins parting the
symphonic waters
in the clubhouse
pool, a luxurious
drowning under
magnolia
branches –
that silver lining
.
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y