Two Summers, one being too real-
One a vanishing twin
I don’t have to pay for my fits of unfathomable boredom, fortunately
But it’s a shame you couldn’t see me
Because I looked pretty great
Practicing matter over mind.
It was a tragic season, I admit
Of pulling drawers and feeling stranded
By the fiction of being enough to remember.
I kept thinking I should be at the beach with Summer,
The enchantress, who somehow compiles teenage romance
And sunscreen into a single glorious comparison of my hollow days,
Then keeps me on my toes, Then looks too good to be myself,
Then secretly feeds off the chills that I, her counterpart, emit-
Wishing to be her for once. If that’s what you want-
I imagine her looking effortless.
I imagine her in a one-piece listening to Pet Sounds.
I imagine her giving you the answers before you ask the questions.
But I really don’t know her that well and
Haven’t seen her in years-
Summer probably wears stupid water shoes now and
Is terribly bloated in her bathing suit all the time-
I wish I hadn’t spent three months searching for her.