It's Still Life

Gazing Into Puddles

It’s July, and I’m star gazing
at black seeds in watermelon.
Gazing at rainbow sprinkles
on ice cream. I count miles —
1 (one-hundred), 2 (one-hundred) …
between lightning and thunder.
I count fireflies; so unaware
that they’ll dim and go black
as those watermelon seeds.
I’m gazing at miles between us.
Memories. Melting. Like ice cream.
Just sprinkles. Just sprinkles
left in sweet puddles. That’s
what’s left as summer melts away.
 
 

© Misky 2016 – for Poetic Bloomings: Summer Words