Windows down, hand outside, riding on the waves of the breeze
mixes with the sound of static from the radio and the smell of the greasy potato chips.
Feet on the dashboard, turquoise-painted ­toenails.
She laughs at a joke, smiling at him, one wrist resting on the wheel.
White sunglasses slide down her nose.

Playground's swing set, sand under heels as they kick off, a running start
into the sky, pumping their legs, higher and higher
until one lets go, soars, lands, rolls.
Grass stains on pant legs
that you hope never come out in the wash, completely.

Lying out in the sun, sweat mixes with sunscreen,
back is sticky against the rubber chairs.
Heat presses down, suffocating.
Dive in.
Goose bumps, water up your nose, handstand on the concrete floor.

Over as soon as it started,
all that is left is a stack of photos waiting to be organized,
a tan line quickly fading,
and you sitting and wondering, as the sun sets earlier and earlier,
if you dreamed it all.