a speckle of glitter hanging around a temple arbitrarily

is swept away by a finger’s idle caress.

     the resurgence of a familiar bass-line

is a call to reminisce

over visions of sun-soaked bodies

moving rhythmically to the beat.

     this poem is filled with cliches

just like the bead-trimmed bikinis we donned

were we ever one?

or was this all an illusion?

     forlorn feathers

of a once coveted costume

lay withering in a corner

[under the bemused gaze of a daddy-long-legs]

yearning for its former hey-day.

     not breathless

not blazing

not waving anymore

but arms akimbo

holding steadfast to the promise

of the self contained within

and the promise of what’s yet to come.

forget this nostalgia

i am my own damn carnival

watch me play myself.

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