You had me spinning in the midnight summer grass.
“Let’s escape the shalt and shalt not. Let’s dissolve the tension for just one minute. If you want, find a boy with a beautiful mouth to kiss you, pull flowers from the ground and weave them into a crown, escape to the shadows of the woods, forget yourself with someone else, pine needles in your hair, twigs pressed into the meat of your back, dirt against your heels as you thrash, under the trees with the animals, under the stars with the trees. Everything is swelling, blooming, glowing, all about to burst, fertile, verdant, ready, wet.” — Nina MacLaughlin
“I almost wish we were butterflies and liv’d but three summer days — three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain.” — John Keats
“Summer was another country, where the birds/ Woke us at dawn among the dripping leaves/ And lent to all our fêtes their sweet approval. The touch of air on flesh was lighter, keener,/ The senses flourished like a laden tree/ Whose every gesture finishes in a flower. In those unwardened provinces we dined/ From wicker baskets by a green canal,/ Staining our lips with peach and nectarine,/ Slapping at golden wasps. And when we kissed,/ Tasting that sunlit juice, the landscape folded Into our clasp, and not a breath recalled/ The long walk back to winter, leagues away.” — Adrienne Rich
“Cool summer nights. Windows open. Lamps burning. Fruit in the bowl. And your head on my shoulder. These the happiest moments in the day. Next to the early morning hours, of course. And the time just before lunch. And the afternoon, and early evening hours. But I do love These summer nights. Even more, I think, than those other times. The work finished for the day. And no one who can reach us now. Or ever.” — Raymond Carver
“Hush, beloved. It doesn’t matter to me how many summers I live to return: this one summer we have entered eternity.” — Louise Gluck
“Suppose I say summer, write the word “hummingbird,” put it in an envelope, take it down the hill to the box. When you open my letter you will recall those days and how much, just how much, I love you.” — Raymond Carver
“It’s not enough to say the heart wants what it wants. I think of the ravine, the side dark with pines where we lounged through summer days, waiting for something to happen; and of the nights, walking the long way home, the stars so close they seemed to crown us. Once, I asked for your favourite feeling. You said hunger.” — Mary Szybist
“That summer I told you no instead of almost. I should have said very very close.” — Amber McMillan
“In the summer I stretch out on the shore/ And think of you/ Had I told the sea/ What I felt for you,/ It would have left its shores,/ Its shells,/ Its fish,/ And followed me.” — Nizar Qabbani trans. B. Frangieh And C. Brown
“I rush toward you in the summer twilight, not in the real world, but in the buried one where you are waiting.” — Louise Gluck
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