Borrowed pink plastic lawn seat.
Loud folk music filtered over laughter.
The naked feet of friends
tickling the trimmed grasses
below
multicolor swimsuits.
Ice-cold beer like liquid rays,
outdoor showers that spit, not spray,
after a day on the weathered wood
of a weekend beachside dock.
I can still taste your
egg-yolk ice cream kisses.
All of these memories melting
in the mislaid sun
of this summer.
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Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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