Then after we left home that day
we ran out under the sunny, rising sky
while it slowly turned a whitish-gray
and we rode out the rest of the summer weather.
Then when we got back home
we rested and talked and ate
until our stomachs turned sour
from too much sugar and caffeine
and our imaginations overreacted
to every little noise in the evening outside.
And then the moment arrived
and the gentle whistling sour off-key notes stirred
in the trees, strumming like a cool autumn morn,
like handfuls of peanuts and candy corn,
like cups of hot chocolate and black as night coffee,
like the times we wore our pure white sleeves,
the times when the cool traced our hands like leaves.
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