How many times has the summer stuck to the back of your thighs
as you peel them away from your leather bucket seats,
Clung to you
with it’s skipping rocks and carpenter bees
and there’s too many dandelions on the lawn.
How many times has the citrus sucking sunshine
drifted through your rose-gold Aviators
and touched the crispy skin around the corners of your eyes,
made it crinkle when you laughed.
Count the times you padded barefoot into the Dairy-mart
just for the AC and the way the linoleum tiles
felt on your feet
And add that to the number of nights
the whole town smelled like honeysuckle.
Divide by the amount your pores the humidity clogged,
And tell me how long it took you
to kneel in the baby’s breath
and beg for more.