it is after a long day of hiding from the sun
i reject you, extrinsic warmth, and
the intrusion upon focus
that
summer's beating light
implies.
memories
one can't wish for:
the feel of hot
skin against
hot
asphalt--
the black radiance
of the playground.
i was not brave enough
to go into day
and so i imbibed
the observed surfaces
with all senses,
my attention to detail
as exquisite and wary
as some fine-lashed
herbivore's.
it was a process
of exchange
like that
of breath:
to become
what others
could love.
i am not remotely content
with myself.
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