when you were a baby and your powdery scent stuck to your skin
a newborn in july, your big sister so excited.
there were maraschino cherries and a solar radiance. your parents still married.
all these things exist in my dreams somewhere on a baseball field in cape cod. in a cotton dress like a towel. these memories like a mirror.
and there you were at 12 drinking lemonade with your long hair and gym shorts.
i want to drink in you. i think i would’ve had a fat crush on you in middle school. slipping notes in your locker and making fun of teachers just to see your teeth in a wide grin
i love to see you laughing and flustered and nervous.
the magnolias are dying off of the trees in front of your apartment and i want to see you infinitely more withered than that












