Watermelon in July
Dripping red, Running through dirty fingers, I remember sweet watermelon in July.
Eyes wide as grandpa slices A piece of summer heaven, We sit on an old wooden swing, Pushing Shoving For space.
Taste buds exploding As heat falls on Brown faces, Not wasting one moment of childhood.
Basking in youth With sugared lips, We toss rinds And run around trees, Scrap knees, No cares about the world, Falling into loving arms As the sun paints the sky Into the end.
