Apples float into my head
through the tiny stereo in my ear (its twin is in yours).
I can't see them,
But I feel like
they're probably red.
You say you want to show them to me
because I'm glow-in-the-dark;
We just can't see the dark
in this summer sunshine,
sand between our toes.
I could say the same about you.
There's sunshine straw
that's soft between my fingers
sleeping on your head, slipping over your crown,
and your eyes,
each a dark little dot
with a pale and bright blue light behind it
pushing around its silhouette
and contained by a fine but strong navy ring,
burn circles into my mind.
I can't see them,
but I feel like
they're probably red.
I tag Adma.
And by Adma I mean Adam.
eek! Adma is not a poet.
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