We are sun-kissed,
one part salt water,
one part watermelon juice
running down our chins.
At dusk the clouds look like they have swallowed
a lemon, glowing from within. I pray to God-
let this golden hour stretch.
There is a joy that lingers as long as the daylight.
It tastes as sweet as the peaches we eat-
raw, covered in cool whip, drizzled with honey.
The nights are for card games and star gazing.
The mornings are for coffee on the porch and counting
the new freckles on your shoulders and nose.
The air is warm. It clings to us like nostalgia,
like childhood, like nights around the campfire.
We are as bright as fireflies and as strong as the sunflowers in my mother's yard-
faces turned towards the sky. Can't you feel it?
Surely we have never been as alive as we are in the summer.
Written by Sarah A. Speed // Writing the Good