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Fourth of July
you and I sat,
in the back,
of your old brown pick up truck.
Our feet stuck out the tailgate,
and it felt like our hands were meant to be stuck,
finger to finger,
palm to palm.
The night was beautiful and calm,
and just like the firecrackers
your dad threw out the window
to try and make us jump,
We spark brightly,
and fade,
then glow softly,
like the retreating light of the day
blurring gently around the edges
of the horizon.
Like the mortars we lit up
side by side
we fly wildly
and fall
floating softly back to earth,
and elegant dance.
God knows where we'll land.
But i hope it's hand in hand.
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