What Lips My Lips Have Kissed

"We can only hope."

As the first cool breeze stirred, Vincent drew near Edwin and said, "Another poem, please."

He recited Whitman's When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer. "Very nice," she smiled, holding his hands. "Now my turn."

Edna St. Vincent Millay began to speak. From her came smoothly the works of great poets from Yeats to Rossetti to Wordsworth. The voice that would someday hold a generation spellbound as she recited her own love poems now held only Edwin in its grip. An hour passed as a moment. The sun drew close to a distant ridge; the half moon in the eastern sky began to glow.

Edwin marveled how the woman's voice had captivated him as much as had her body. But then she paused and kissed him deeply. "You can have me again if you like," she whispered.

He realized that his manhood was stiff again, and had been for some time. Vincent rose and waited as he took off his flannel shirt and spread it on the grass beside the gravestone. He finished disrobing as she reclined on the shirt, pulled up her dress and spread her thighs. Edwin mounted and took the woman a second time.

Afterwards, amid warm kisses, Vincent smiled. "Now, don't you agree it was the graveyard that made our lovemaking perfect?"

"No, I think it was something else entirely."

"You naughty boy!" she giggled.

"God Vincent, I love you so. I want to stay here with you and let us be lovers from now on. Can we?"

Vincent had pushed down her dress again. Reclining on one elbow, she said, "Edwin, this day has been ideal, don't you think?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then let's have just this one perfect day as our love affair. You are a wonderful lover, Edwin. And I will always treasure this day. But you are not the man I seek."

"But I love you! And you said you loved me!"

"I do love you, angel. But you must return to New York, and to school. And tomorrow I must go back to caring for my sisters. It is so much work, Edwin: washing, baking, and cleaning. Today I stole away for a swim, but tomorrow I return to my labor. I've prayed for a man to come and deliver me from it, to take me away. You are so sweet, Edwin, but I know that you are not he. I must wait for that man."

Seeing the dejection on his face, she went on, "My dear, whenever we begin to miss each other, can we not recall this one perfect day?"

"It isn't enough for me!"

"But it must be, dearest. We're so young, and I have so much within me. There's so much poetry I must write, so much of the world I want to see! And men whose love I want to know before ... before I join these here around us. Do you see, Edwin? We both have our destiny, and I know that is mine."

Edwin said nothing. Now in a lower voice, Vincent continued, "A boy might want to go on with his infatuation. But now you are a man. You must think and act as a man."

Edwin sighed, watching the sun disappear. "So I will never see you again?"

"No, my love."

"But you are right. We will have this day."

Edna St. Vincent Millay kissed him for the last time. "Yes, it is our gift to each other."

Several hours later Edwin sat alone, staring into his campfire, still unsure if this had been the best or the worst day of his life. But now he understood. A rare woman, a woman with the shroud of greatness around her, had passed by and touched him briefly. And he would never be the same for it.