youth, a poem

I remember the taste of summer on my shoulders, the sipping of that slow burn sunset like the bruising candle and the day we met. I would sip the air misted with misconstrued intent, with long forgotten contentment.     The sky gasps once more, an echo, a slammed door a gasp that falls, shatters …

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receipts, a poem

  I find remembrances of him written on old receipts: he is dynamite I made in the kitchen sink, blew holes in my backyard,   [ back of my mind ]     on the back of a thank you card.   I did not thank him for hiding my peace of mind that I could only …