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The taste of summer lies behind
its nostalgic yellow wrapping.
Concealing the delights 
of each golden brushed biscuit.
Slowly, I bring to my lips 
the taste of summer.
The sound of my grandfather’s gentle laugh
fills each crevice of the small warm car,
beams of sunlight, fragment across the dash.
My infant feet don’t reach the ground.
The leather seat sticks to my sweaty legs.
And warm murmur of the tropical heat,
carries the soft beats of an old song.
My grandfather's eyes crinkle in a smile;
the sunlight glistening on his tan skin.
I take the last bite 
and the memory dissipates. 
Taking with it 
the taste of summer.