Ghosts of Summer
When I close my lids
and unbox these dusty memories,
I discover that it's hard for me
to recapture
the ghosts that summer turned over
in its warm hands of variance.
They were people that existed
only for a season
that would leave me dreaming
of true face-to-face talk,
like when I first learned
we four sailed the same sea of soullessness
and could reignite each other's lives
after the dorm lights had died,
feelings I wish I'd never felt
if they would be replaced
by repetitive typing on a keyboard
back in my humid apartment
where desperation sets in,
four lifetime years later,
and half the country away.
Copyright © Richard H. Dunsany | Year Posted 2017
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