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To July, MAG
Your salty tears drip down my cheeks,
Heat inflames my face.
You make my flesh flush and my head throb.
I stare in your direction,
My eyes see crimson and my skin is seared scarlet.
I seek relief from you
In large pools of water
And beneath the willow's arms I hide.
Yet some welcome you.
They call you forth with fireworks and lemonade.
They celebrate you with parades of reds, whites, and blues.
Yet I still fear your hand on my shoulder.
You have burnt my skin.
You will wrinkle my face.
You scar my body.
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