What Do You Hear Now, Walt Whitman? (11)

11

And summer smiles fading away over the throng of clothes slashed across the floor,
the tender tug and tear of youth dulled by the commonplace,
youth banished to the dark corners of day-in, day-out,
life recycled and rerun endlessly, youth redefined till sour,
youth shredding away at the sheets of some distant dorm room,
youth shredding any remains of innocence,
youth jumbled into a shapeless mesh balled up on a small bed,
two bodies deforming into one, burrowing through blankets and pillows,
youth fading away with summer smiling.

Treacherous waters wait ahead,
treacherous waters; trembling cold beneath blankets like towels.

The summer smile whispers its last words and watches and waits,
the smile shies away like sheets the next morning.

The summer spins and whirls,
the young mind grasps the occasion and dissolves into sleep,
the young boy wakes up curled like a fetus next to some girl he hardly knows.

Treacherous waters wait ahead,
treacherous waters; trembling cold beneath blankets like towels.