what cotton candy tasted like in 2004

by William Bortz

before summer left that year
it gave me a wet kiss
and my hair is still matted like dew-soaked grass
and July is just another day at the carnival
dusk is patient and slow to fade
sitting idly just below the crest of low hills
keeping the color in the clouds from
blushing red to scared
and every other color in between that can only
exist on ephemeral planes
I twirl their
wispy ends around a stick
just to see how fleeting moments taste
like sickness, like plastic
my youth is a spilled beer
a stagnant puddle stale by morning
and washed away by the
clumsy hands of a hot

©2018 William Bortz

William Bortz is a poet from the Midwest. Loves coffee. Loathes snow.


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