By: Dylan Magruder
I counted summers in loss
of sweetness and skin. In
half packs of Oreos and
food thrown out before
it turned rotten. In whispers
of if I get a little prettier
until nothing warmer would
come, and I stole kisses in
soccer fields. I counted those
too. Five for the strange boy
with the flipped back hair,
who knew my neck better than
my name. Two after shots of
cheap vodka, when no one
was looking. One for the bird-
named boy who held me in
the grass as we counted the
stars which fell to us like rain.