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Elah Naldo Apr 2017
sunkissed skin and vibrant skies,
warm season was always the same
but when i met those summer dazed eyes,
i knew that trouble just came

he had lips that kissed wetter than the ocean
he had arms like waves that swallowed me
he filled my summer with cuddly flirtations
he filled thousands of sunflowers within me

but just like how summer came to an end,
he left and autumn arrived with tears to shed
and just like how abandoned flowers would be,
they slowly died inside together with me

that summer was more than fifty shades of love
but all turned into an endless waves of misery
just wishing upon the tangerine sky above
that tides will bring him back to me
an entry to a summer themed poem writing competition
Amanda Apr 2016
Something of youthful cut grass
blading itself through a crisp March
as to guide crickets into breaking their backs
so that eyelids may kiss pillows in matrimony
so that the smell of the approaching summer
in its fleeting Shelby Cobra
driving so smoothly when running away
but leaking a trailed gallon of purposeful gasoline
when trying to get to the other side of culpability.

I dissipate fragment by fragment
into the dark
equating to pollen that has had its day
as satin-skinned camellias
in a swift breeze.

A tongue swollen with nectar sweat
the wind strokes its fingers through my solstice hair
drunk with humidity
enticing sleek branches
to swoon with the cadence
of sweltering heat.
Sometimes I wonder if I’m your addiction.
When you call me drunk and giggling
or when you’re still
coming up on your high,
maybe just reaching the peak.
Do you call me because I, too, get you tipsy?
Does the thought of me scurry
across your mind when you hit bliss?
Do you need a drag of
me to achieve your ultimate high?
You’re my 4 in the morning.
My “up all night.” The
reason I stay awake counting
the stars and my
heartbeats. You’re the
spots that I see,
the shadows that I see,
when it’s running on day two and
I still haven’t had
a wink of sleep.
You’re every insomniac’s dream.
I wrote this when I was 17 for the boy who would come back to me every summer.

— The End —