Soaring

I want last year's summer back,
the sweet smell of grass and salt and gasoline,
drifting through the warm breeze,
knowing a brown banana's waiting for me in the car. 
a friend waiting at the door, in the same shorts as yesterday,
with a few color alterations.
I'm rubbing bright white zinc sunscreen on my half burned, half tan face,
we take off to the beach, only a few steps away from their house.
then falling, falling,
slowly,
to the bay.
one second of peace,
before I land on my back.
the warm sand a new exfoliant. 
happy all over again.