summer ice

I remember the summers
on the street
in Maryland, the wagon coming
by with shaved ice.
strawberry, blueberry,
lime.
the white cone cups
in our small hands,
soft
under the melting sweetness.
we licked, we
took bites, we drank
it down under the sun,
leaving our lips
with the color of that
delicious summer ice.
never happier we're we
then those days that lasted
long into the night.