Summer moments like Polaroid flashes.
Sliding into shotgun of a pickup, seatbelts forsaken,
Driving out to Kisatchie, all the way to Longleaf Vista—
“The Little Grand Canyon,” full of lush green trees and rivers.
Strong limbs, wandering ahead of me, you making the path
Showing me where the trail opened to a cliff.
Sitting at the edge, legs swinging, and arms intertwined.
All day, just looking, sun kissed shoulders bared.

We race home, just after curfew,
I stumble in, and head straight to bed, dreaming—
We fall off the cliff, a literal head over heels.
Tumbling down, endlessly whirling,
Calling for each other, screaming at each other for no reason.
Careening towards a pretty untimely end.

We were always meant to be just a fling.