don’t we all want the joy we’ve gathered to mature like wine apples of friendship our family of melons some lemony characters a tart cherry or two aged happiness has a flavor younger vintages lack more hints of sunsets and warm memories mellowed in older barrels the taste, a dissolving satisfaction sipped extra slow with eyes closed not as good when drunk alone

if I lived by cancer’s warnings, my face would never feel like warm butter my cold arms wouldn’t goose bump with the mix of heat and tingle bare legs would never walk through a field and melt in freedom if I did what they said, I’d rush from shade to shade, never stopping to linger in the precarious sun but that dangerous star is what I worship I may spread a defensive fortification on the flesh above my neck, but the rest of me has a vulnerable need to worship th

for some reason sitting in this morning’s sun reminded me of the Jersey Shore my skin felt the same crackle of heat that came when laying on a towel, listening to waves, the cackle of children I remember the water was cold, though I went in with my brothers to avoid humiliation, dug up and smashed clams, throwing the sticky flesh to seagulls in mid-swoop, puzzled how they had mastered the art of the catch I remember little else of that me, though recalling it was a st