6/3/19

June hits me like the sun

after a thunderstorm, when 

the dampness still hangs in the air

like a weighted blanket. It is warmth

after a cold night, brightness after

blindness. It leaves colorful promises

painted across the tops of trees

and houses: promises

to never flood me with more than I can

handle, and that there's a love out there

for me to find when the timing is right.

June hits me like hope, 

and I bask in the light of it.

- a.t.

6/3/19