Smooth with the blemishes of upside down soccer nets,
the permeating stench of feet hollering
surround the sand of a beach ball court.
The sight of opposite conversations
inject the ear with distinct memory ;
a 'wake me up before you go go' over "my god i cant fucking stand this school."
Small in a way thats new,
movements fade as legs pull forward,
with
fingers spending time typing the green
into remembrance.
Then, a solitary co-existing
with a bite of air intermixed with heat,
making one think
the landscape has resurrected itself into a crisp apple.
