linger, where..

i've
inhaled the incandescent scent
tasted the silver kiss
lingered
and
ran my fingers
through
twenty nine
seasons
of summer nights

(on tricycles and bicycles
climbed trees and hills and breezes

traced a world in clouds
made giggles out of sunshine

softly tickled by grass
arms wide open to the sky

discovered dusk in my hair
found twilight
somewhere
over there

golden lips,
the moon a candy in
some warm wind

water breathless
on my skin)

so

why

does every hint
of every time
i go
outside
(every time
i sense
the air or
smell the
sun
or find no word to describe the
exact color of
the sky
or breathe
firelight
in)

out of all twenty nine season's worth
of things to remember

why

am i
only
reminded
of
one
summer

just
one..

(yet:
in this light
my feet stumble over night

and i
find it hard to
read
the word 'linger'

when my fingers
so
slowly
gently
run
through
something
so
unraveled in my
enrapture
i,
so sweetly
captured,
i
admit)

and
i
don't
get
it

to make the moment, feel breathless?

to forsake the made moment
for the reason i linger, in feeling breathless..?

who feels what
in the last sense of anything
why are you
the last thing
in my sense of absolutely nothing
*suddenly moonlit*
while i feel something
else..

why is this
so much more than nothing
what is
anything

who
are you/are they/am i

sigh