Amber or Vomit

Seventy-eight degrees
and honey condensation
brick leaning to blue
water leaning to red
the kind of day too warm to last
the kind of day you have to stick a straw into

a flash of red hair
passes behind me
and my breath stops
mid-bloom
{I don’t know how to admire realistically}

At my feet
there is either vomit or amber
hardened between pieces of stone
but either way
I like the way that the roofs
interrupt each other mid sentence

a little girl
beaming in soccer shorts and fairy wings
walks alongside her sea foam-haired mother
{I know how to admire realistically}

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