girls of summer

we are beings that
groan at the morning light
too used to the deep blue of dawn
serving as a wake-up call and
“5 more minutes” as a laughable concept
But this
Sunlight at 8 a.m is the alarm we ignore
in favor of pulling covers and pillows over
tousled heads and
telling the heralds of the mornings

“Not today”


We stretch our bodies on the nameless beige lining of some ocean
with sweat-slick skin
and salt-drenched hair
and nimble fingers picking through grains in the water
to find prizes from the sea
and we’re so far from the shore
We can’t see our feet
but it’s not as though we care
not as though it matters

I can’t remember the last time something mattered to me

Our hour is
it’s dark and violet
velvet and violent
and it’s going to be gone in a
trick of the light
but we’ll still be seated on this edge of the world
laughing at everything
that will mean nothing come August
We laugh with contraband alcohol
sweet in our veins and secrets we can’t keep on our tongues

for the night is black

and we
are wild

howling at the moon

just because we can

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