Rainy summer day,
storming actually
The kind of day that made you want to crawl under the covers and forget yourself
drift off to sleep

Still
despite the navy skies
It was still summer

summer means peaches
big ones, bursting, dripping
honey nectar and sunshine

so we make a peach pie
cinammon and sugar sticking to our fingers like slow molasses
underscored by the constant drip, slip, flooding
arranging produce like composers

and we waited
we waited for the pie to bake
we waited for the crust to crisp, for the sugars to melt,
for the peaches to ripen, to brown and butter
we waited for the rain to stop
we waited for sunshine, for dry shoes, for beach days, powerlines
we waited for hours
we waited for months
we waited eighteen years
we sat, and we stood, and we waited.

We sat in front of the oven
eyes pressed against the window
we waited
watched the sugars bubble, the scented cloves
we were two years old and one hundred at the same time
we waited for the kind of lives that we saw in movies
the kinds of dreams you wanted so bad it hurt
we waited with stomachs churning
wasting our youth, one rainy afternoon at a time
waiting for life to begin

Rainy summer day,
storming actually
The kind of day that made you want to crawl under the covers and forget yourself
forget about the peaches
forget about summer, about friends,
about anyone and anything
drift off to sleep

My boy cinnamon,
He is Aromatic
An Asian beauty that tingles the senses inside and out
A wondrous being that fills my life with such flavour that I wonder how I had not noticed how bland it was before

Cinnamon I may not have tasted you nor felt you yet between my fingers
But you are still mine and always will be, my boy cinnamon

i ate a tin of cinammon mints for breakfast and
a plate of middle eastern pickles for lunch and
will probably swallow my pride for dinner

i am never sure i know what love is
because
i am always falling deeper into it

I lost myself in the stories in the newspapers,
and the coffee he poured me because he thought
I needed something,
but I did not order a thing.

I lost myself in the fuschia flower in her hair,
over her left ear, but,
my left ear didnt have a flower, and,
come to think of it, it probably never would.

I drank my coffee, black, because I didn't know any better,
and watched the lovers fight over buttered crossiants and
cinammon lattes with whipped cream and chocolate syrup.

My knuckles felt like typewriters, but,
for once in my life I wasn't writing.
I was hardly thinking,
I was hardly speaking even.

I lost myself in the low music and guitar
coming from inside the cafe
because, unlike me, it was beautiful
and soft, and lovely.

He poured me more coffee even though
I didnt want it, and,
gave me a crossiant, "on the house."

Who would think to give,
an observer something lovely?
But I had accepted it because
mother always said
"be kind."

I lost myself in silver eyes,
or, were they golden?
I hardly remember but I lost
myself in them.
And I didn't know why.

I fell in love at a coffee shop
where, I counted change,
like quarters and dimes and
anything to give him something
worth keeping.

I fell in at a coffee shop because
life was beautiful and people didn't
know me here at all so,
they couldn't follow me home.

White
gardens
smell like cinammon

You drown in my sea of thoughts
It's not fair....
All i wanted is to have a silly crush on you
Maybe
Instead i got was the falling feeling at the bottom of my stomach and headaches...
Your glistening cinammon skin and your smile.
Oh that smile that makes me want to drown for eternity.
The worst part is these feelings are unrequited
So there i will stay in the blank spot of pain
Where all of your thoughts go
As hard as i try i can't fight it...why??
Because it's you..

There we were, all three of us
With triangle flags proudly flying team colors: red alternating with black, hung above our heads

The sky displayed a golden overcast and 90's glow, we immersed ourselves in the misty chlorine rain, created out of sunset teenage days, we indulged in the vintage filtered vibes that were formed of summer storms,

We remained treading in fluorescent blues until the leftover orange, lemon-yellow, and soft peach colors of the afterstorm flooded into the foggy pool,

...and there were chapped lips--cinammon sweet, water-worn fingers, and stinging red eyes hidden behind Ray Bans.

Their daydream smiles were two weeks behind, brimming with nostalgia of a previous decade

...

I miss them like spring--they're already gone, don't they dare to linger on me like afternoon heat, causing glassy water to absorb a fading season's warmth

But soon evenings will go cold and the afternoon air will turn to college sweatshirt nights, and a fleeting season that can never exist will leave me behind, even though I don't want it to...

(Babe, your summer lasts a year longer than mine ever will)