A Summer in Suburbia

By Christina Flores-Chan

you wrote a verse about the summer we spent together I hate the way I recognized myself in your lyrics hearing your voice for the first time in six months raised goosebumps on my arms it might be the broken heater in this apartment though, I don’t know you sang about how my touch gave you chills even under the sweltering sun I’m sorry I never warned you about my bad blood circulation I’m sorry I was the coldest part of that summer when the memory of holding your hand, the night sky collapsing over us, burns through my skin I still listen to your music with Spotify’s private session on it’s snowing in the city and I don’t want anyone to know that I still think about you when I sit by the fireplace, fingers looming over the flames