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Summer romances are not promises.Summer in the city –
leaflets, flyers, little playthings of the wind;
planets that stepped outside the solar system;
these are the little things I can’t forget.
Freckles and smoke.
Charms and rhymes.
Her light yellow bike rusted from the rain.
It was a lemonade sort of summer,
spent writing down the sound of the sea
and tales from sunken ships.
Summer jam and citrus breeze,
drowsy head and folder wing
in a honey meadow shimmering near the shore.
We are all astronauts in the dead of night.
The first day of June was a miracle
filled with the smell of tea
in those mornings we shared;
the last summer day was full of the sadness
associated with a dying sunset.
Summer moved on,
left me playing with cold fingers.
We are planets,
distant as summer to winter,
pointing north but walking south.
The city lights are constellations
and I have loved the stars too fondly, but
everything’s gonna be Coca-Cola –
I stopped drinking iced tea and lemonade,
but keep the sky orange for
CopenhagenLet’s meet again in an alternate universe
where your eyes are brown and I dyed my hair black
because I hated being a natural blue.
I’ll teach you to play guitar
and you’ll show me how to fly,
scholars caught in an intellectual love affair,
a tandem bike going nowhere.
I’ll know you by the gentleness
of your fingertips and you’ll need
no identifier but the slant of my handwriting,
because, world to world, some things don’t change.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More