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Zachary Lundgren
Idaho Springs, 2010

It’s going to rain again, they say, but we’re too young to care and your bare shoulders like a sudden loss of breath or silly confusion, e.e. cummings and Spring and spelling words the way they sound we’re disoriented and a little drunk.

Drinking cheap beer, but not because we have to. You’re laughing and I’m turning gold. So many whispers for no reason and your eagerness to kiss so open reminds me of windows late at night and accompanying the sun stealing.

They tell us notice the waterfall, they want us to recognize the historical value of these mines and those canyons but honestly, they must have never been this lost in a mess of your hair. You find me in your deep breaths and there’s a group of kids trading bracelets, bright and cheap, so I have to kiss you.

A gust of wind excitement and no clouds yet. You speak novels with those candy brown eyes set on me like determined children. Our teeth do little hiding these days and the wind picking at your hair makes it okay there are mountains.

The crowds form around our glow, the warm night suddenly and then the fireworks summer our eyes and I’m in love with your smooth wrist breathing alongside mine