blush
and beads of sweat
glow and sparkle
on cheek and brow
we bake under orange sun
and talk of deconstructionism
and the fall of Roma
the end of empires
the grass tickles
the back of my calves
and the leaves
brush and talk overhead
the sound of fingersnaps
these summer days
have become spots - here and there
I see the minutes
a glance of red t-shirt
and brown skin
these braids of time turn in my mind
at these moments
lying on this hard mattress
with itchy wool blanket
scarring the jawline
staring at the cracked ceiling tiles
moments of orange and yellows
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