Contemplation Upon Summer Swing

My paintbox has clattered open,
Colors spilt,
Into the sky,
Beneath me.
Hues of deathly bruises,
Merge with pineapple's sunlit innards,
Into a cloudless page.
Against the dying heavens,
Vibrant flashes of your hair,
Spark raging flame,
As we oscillate in fluid cadence,
That only a child can discern.
Paintbrush pines,
Seeping with Tarturus black,
Are haphazardly strewn,
Across these bright, wet, heavenly oceans.
Beneath my soiled sneakers,
Your empty, loveless eyes,
Hold barren life-
Frozen lakes have not yet thawed.
Yet my winged dreams cannot die in perished sun,
Not upon a solitary swing.





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