a speckle of glitter hanging around a temple
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?
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 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.