Pollen Counts

NEZOLIKA

It’s in being so luck-drunk

That we fall to the ground

And don’t know pain

(We’ll know it tomorrow, but)

Now we’re back on our spines

On the grass outside,

And there’s dew sopping into

Our tees and to our skin, but

It’s dry out and you hung your clothes out on the line

To dry too,

I flip the calendar to June,

2 weeks, 3 days late, but

I’ll leave my sinuses out to dry too,

And let my unfeeling fingertips grip

And leave those half moons. And drink your coffee even though it’s cold now.

(And we’ll know it tomorrow)