First Glance
Memory is a funny thing
It can be clear as a clean windowpane,
or as murky as Briny waters.
I remember your dark hair, how that one strand curled
just above your forehead above your deep blue eyes.
You t-shirt clung to those new muscles,
firm biceps and washboard stomach.
Jeans clinging to thin legs
that walked tentatively.
You remember walking around with bed-head,
“sleepies” clinging to the corner of your eyes.
A wrinkled, Swiss cheese shirt too small for your new body
and arms that felt like prosthetics.
Jeans too tight in the crotch,
making your stride stiff.
My hand disappeared in yours that first night
but it was comfortable even when your hand started to sweat
as we sat in the back of your friend’s mustang,
drove around downtown listening to rock and shouting to talk.
I leaned back to feel the wind in my hair
trying to keep it from striking you.
I slid closer to you on that leather seat,
the mustang cornering on two wheels just missing the curb.
Your arm curled around my shoulders to hold me close
When a seat belt wasn't enough. You smelled of musk
and wood. At least that’s how I remember it.
What did you write today?
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4 comments:
I really like the last line. I think it fits so well. I remember him, too, and he was mighty fine. LOL
--Anna
Diary of an Eccentric
Neat :-)
Whew...let me wipe the sweat off my brow. That poem got me all hot and bothered! Wonderful!
LOL I had no idea that you would get hot and bothered.
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