tagNon-Erotic PoetrySpring (c. years ago)

Spring (c. years ago)


It was a long time ago, I remember
spring in her sister city Albuquerque.
In the midst of busy, heavy industry,
black smoke curled from smoke stacks
was a park, purple elms, evergreens
and cherry blossoms. All trees drank
the hazy rain. I sat on the stone steps

watching ants weave around my muddied
trainer as my ass got wet and colder.
The shade of winter still bit the day,
but I sat there, huddled and hidden while
across the bridge in a Japanese 7-11
she brown-bagged us tall beers in tin cans.

She'd skipped back, black hair stringy,
dripping and fell down beside me.
I'd inadvertently taste paper before Yebisu,
her skin; it was the sun, warming.
Alcohol flushed her cheeks as her little kisses
flamed my neck, collarbone and down.

Out of sight, but in the open, we'd stay there
all day, get drunk then, well, we all know what.
It's where all the younger, good stories go,
getting hotter and bolder each day after.

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