it was usually summer
as you and me,
in love
as always
would say to
ourselves
"surely,
there is no more to life than this,"
The sea lapped the beach
and our words away
you and I sat still
lapping the world
like an ice cream cone
with our eyes
while we shared licks
from an actual ice cream cone:
soft-serve
black and white
isn't this just nice?
aren't we complete?
is your tongue cold,
sweet?
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