I Recall a Sunday Morning

When soft slants of light
prickled my eyes
and I awoke to a glowing mass
of brown strands
and glimmering blue
staring through my skin
at something within
that I hardly knew.
I opened my eyes
and it was you.

I recall a Tuesday afternoon
when we danced like seals
on a stage of daffodils
and I would tickle your arm
where it mattered most.
I loved the way that you
would fall to the ground
with no one else around
so we could kiss. I knew
love was in our palms
all because of you.

I recall a Friday night
when we drove for miles
chasing the sunset
and I would hear you sing
louder than our burnt CDs.
It was all that I could do
to not laugh aloud at each
off pitch piercing screech
that leapt from my mouth too.
I would look over
and it was always you.

I recall an entire summer
when we thought
we were invincible.
When my lungs felt numb
as if I'd surrendered
all my oxygen to you
all I had to do
was kiss it back.

I felt love like an avalanche
of skin and mouths and hands.
I felt love like roses, budding through dew
in the last mornings of our August;
the kind that only two people knew.

Yes, Caroline,
it was all because of you.