dancing on bike wheels and silver bells, sunshine reflecting off the glass of old jars
vinyl record spinning in my mind, I watch it, nameless, by the soft light
of a lamp in the night time. and the smell of wood floors and outdoors
sneaking through the creaking cracks in the walls
the smell of old books, torn pages and cracked spines
awaken my curiosity and I am aware, eyes open wide
like a doe in her most hunted season, upright and awake
for the first time I am drifting with comfort, not a rock but a river
washing over the strong and letting life run through me.
I can hear the crickets and smell the earth, the rain, the green alive
I can feel it stick to my skin, the sweat and heat, the laughter
and the early morning. the paper money and the scent of coffee
sweet memories drifting back to me,
like spinning records that end where they begin
like a sliver of a secret that I hold onto when I know
that it's not the summer anymore. that the days grow shorter
and I must dress warmer. button up and wind down
back to the books and slight of hand to canvas or machine
whatever it's to be, I know that it's not summer anymore.
so let it be, let sweet autumn come to me
then the winter, let her cool my hot temper and chill my bones
push me in doors and out of mind
I will slip away, back to the sickening heat of summer time
and in her warmth I will bask, cool breeze and dark skin
friend to friend, my words find yours and there is no end
slipping long into the night of summer time.
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