A poem born on the back porch.

September 7th

I loved those dark September nights
sitting on the swing
remembering your first delicious kiss
like it would ever happen.

We looked up at the diamonds
spilled on night’s blue-black velvet
so we could choose which ones
would go in our wedding bands.

I loved the last smudge of milky way,
a thumbprint on heaven
before the rabbit brush bloomed.

I loved those damp September mornings
hanging onto pre-dawn
with a cloud full of anticipation,
a present as gray as an area of future.

We looked into each other’s eyes,
mutual sapphires of the soul
and listened to the silence
as if it were the only space between our heartbeats.

You took my hand and promised to speak to the council
within the month about our future together.
Like it would ever happen.

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