bienvenue, summer.

These people are covered in cement on a sweatsuit tuesday.
far away from the sun they obediently orbit.
it is all so easy.
the car crunches backward and your lover,
too exhausted to love
in her constructed blazer,
sitting smoking in the chilly driver's seat
not daring to drive, to feel
destroying the earth that orbits your sun.
coffee stains litter your chest
and you thank her for making you human
though you have no idea what that means yet.
something about free will
on a cracked table, tension under the stars.
she was fair to you, taught you,
slept next to you in a box of holes -- dead or alive.

But for now, for now,
we'll scope the sky with little eyes
wanting our silly surprise.