bam.
In the dog days of summer behind his parent's house
we lifted our faces to the sun and spoke of Aldous Huxley.
I mistook the beer for wisdom and looked on in wonder
as he chain smoked and quoted Jack Kerouac.
"I think Bob Dylan and David Bowie had a thing."
The water ran cold, and as we sat in silence in the bath-
a deranged novelty of sepia rust stains and a tired faucet-
I peeled off what was left of my summer skin.
He snored behind me as I watched the street lamps flicker down below.
I prepared for what was to be a cold December.
Sometimes we're not as beautiful as we think.
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