One Summer


It was a maze.

Not so much like parts
of Versailles or even the
grounds of Biltmore House,
but so much squared greenery
that walking some alleys in
the darkest part of the night
made me stop to listen for a
Baskerville hound,

The only thing I heard, though,
was the whop-whop of rotors
as Smokey did his bear-in-the-air
trick and kept choppers and bright
spotlights filtering through above
our heads throughout much of the
night. Never did learn what they
were looking for, was too taken with
my latest infatuation. Lovely as the

garden, with skin that could compare
to the silkiest of petals and kisses
that seemed to drip Neapolitan along
my tongue, while her hair always
seemed awash in citronella.

No wonder the mosquitos kept
their distance.

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