I'm no poet. Tear it apart, please!
Sometimes we still breathe in chalky rubber
And feel the setting sun on our skin,
The sea of asphalt burning our feet
Sometimes we still hear rubber hitting pavement
As that clouded-blue ball crossed the sea
Our breathless laughter blowing the sails
Sometimes we still feel summer breezes on our skin
And our hands sting under the remembered rush
Of kite string as we crash cheap plastic onto opposite shores
Sometimes we still look out on those shores
Browning grass standing stiffly along
The sea that no longer thrashes its chalky waves
Sometimes I close my eyes,
Look back on me, him, and them
Stranded on two shores of the same burning asphalt sea
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