Sunday, August 21, 2016

#11


Stand still
I'm trying to
remember you.

The night
the loons
expectant hope
heart fluttering in my chest.

Behind the cabin, number nine
against the
paint-peeled doors
you leaned me gently
weight and all
moon peeking through to see
your face wide
holding me
this moment's ecstasy.

Two nine-year-olds
snuck out at night
to kiss among the pines.

You were my love
my one true love
of long ago
Tonight.


-Llora H. Kressmann

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