This is the summer I spend alone

This is the summer I spend home
away from the stormy clouds
that used to wash the
the tears I imagine
flowing through my cheeks
like the blood in my veins
or the sparks in my mind
or from the sunshine
that used to wash the joys
I imagine filling my lungs
like the love songs in the radio
or the stories my friends used to share.

This is the summer I spend home
away from the sea
that used to wash
the dirt I imagine
sleeping in my skin
like the beggar on the street
or the smoke in the sky
or from the parks
that used to wash
the food I imagine
filling my guts
like the beers of forlorn nights
or the luck of unrequited courtships.

This is the summer I spend home
today
away from the world
that used to fill
my soul
with distractions I imagine
clotting my breath
like the murky pens I use
to draw the summer outside me
or from you
who used to fill it.

This is the summer I spend alone.


Poem No. 5 for this week’s poetry theme, “on summer I toil, on summer, I dream.”

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