Spin swerve Gone summer Dragging bikes uphill Downhill so fast
Legs unable To keep revolution Spread out Rims spinning The accident
Don’t talk about Soil becomes blood Was that the first time
Death wasn’t vocabulary Dumbfounded in dim light Extended days
You held My hand Tears and snot On your shoulder Remember how
We hated adults You and me against What was it We were against
Growing up Looking stupid No Faker Underneath the Douglas fir
Skirt of moss Distant sounds of swimmers in the pond Wasn’t it a lake
Cold birth Summer weather sweating in autumn sweater leather satchels
Divided dreams decoded diary entries lily stains Something what This way comes
Used to be all forest Flannel shirts and duck boots Fancy cafes Recommended photo spot
What happen To our days off-filter fun Erased landmarks You changed
Nostalgia for nostalgia
Such a blanket this one. “Lily stain”. And “this way comes”
Ha ha, I really tried to get that bike in from your poem:)-