Queasy summer shower, steam off the pavement, evening coming on too quickly no matter how late the light lasts. A preponderance of pink in the night, a song by Mitski to accompany the mood, a fan of pink feathers to wave away the heat. Coquette summers are all about the exquisite ache, the untethered longing, the there-but-not-there emptiness of loss. Summer gains darkness as the years go by, so we need a little pink glow to get us through the night.
I glow pink in the night in my roomI’ve been blossoming alone over youAnd I hear my heart breaking tonightI hear my heart breaking tonightDo you hear it too?It’s like a summer showerWith every drop of rain singing“I love you, I love you, I love youI love you, I love you, I love youI love you, I love you, I love you”
Sigh of decadent dismissal, smile of weak and shaky form, movements of languid timidity. Sentences broken into pieces of phrase, words cut and shattered, grammar torn. Cruel, abrupt, clipped summer. Evocation and adoration too. Summer carves out its space, removing its heart.
I could stare at your back all dayI could stare at your back all dayAnd I know I’ve kissed you before, butI didn’t do it rightCan I try again, try again, try againTry again, and again, and againAnd again, and again, and again
