summer streaked skies with
glints of orange and soaring kites,
and called your warm hands mine
in its breezy voice like a wind chime,
accompanied by the chorus of crickets
while we sat glowing upon your front porch.

and there you pocketed my heart like the collected leaves
rested comfortably in an upstairs journal, like
the handful of blooming whites overfilling a vase,
like the jar of fireflies we caught to see if their light
could imitate the ones we shined at night.