Praveen Kumar 
the watermelon juice drips down your chin, the seeds scattered across kitchen tile, the afternoon sun catching your smile, your sticky fingers interlaced with mine;
the ceiling fan circles above our bed, the sheets tangled around sunburned legs, the ice cubes melting in sweating glasses, the cicadas singing through window screens;
your hair smells like chlorine and sunscreen, your shoulders freckled from afternoon naps, your laughter echoing across still water, your shadow stretching longer each evening;
we eat dinner outside after sunset, we count fireflies like scattered wishes, we argue over whose turn to refill, we fall asleep to distant thunder;
the neighbors' sprinkler hisses nearby, the charcoal smoke drifts between houses, the porch light draws moths in dizzy spirals, the night air finally cool against skin;
