The Infinite Burn.

Sweet juice dribbles down your chin,
Your tongue curls into the tangy taste.

The hammock creaks and sighs against itself,
Its ropes rasping against your sticky skin.

The sun is bright blanket,
A haze that muffles laughter and voice.

Breath rattles through capped lips,
Glasses of lemonade weep.

The grass achingly caresses your feet,
Cicadas trilling their infinite song.

Fingers of wind tug at hair,
Extinguishing the baked skin's mournful cry.

This is summer.
Filled with brutal sun and aching burns.

Yet each year we yearn for it,
For the sweet juice and tangy taste.

And so it lives on.