Summer is a bit scandalous, like honey dipped cherry, a clandestine lover, or perhaps a blooming purple constellation dancing on collarbones in ecstasy. Summer is the fleeting sorrow the followed me till July, touching my tongue with a fuzzy feeling of being alive, melancholy muraling iridescent clouds, dripping apricot ice cream playing with your lips, whispering an infamous affair between mountain and the ocean, sweet scent of almond moisturizer flirting with the salt air, Orchid's longing for honeyed kiss, there's a forbidden desire to have you all over me, summer is the dried sunflower in my forbidden journal, polaroid of my high school girls laughing in the sun. Summer kisses my hair and makes me a maddening phantom all over again. Summer is a memoir to young love, A memoir of us.












