by Greg Anderson Copyright ©2026 Crowds cheer at the sky’s first bloom— red chrysanthemums bursting, golden comets dripping slow— but my eyes are fixed on the way your lips part, catching the light like wet silk. We slip into the shadow behind the hum of lawn chairs and laughter, where the grass bends under our knees, and the air tastes of salt and heat. Each firework above finds its echo in the pulse between us— a white flare when your mouth meets mine, a deep blue shiver wh