I suppose it's only polite

to open the door now, and let the sun

and fresh air in, but I thrive

on winter's fumes and dust,

if only to keep the hot air out,

and the freshness of a cold day in

to help me remember the smell

of fresh pine dressed in snow.

.

Warm days and the lake were buddies

when life begged for another memory

of a lover's touch and hot wet sand

under the feet; how casually we lolled

around, sun burned on the back

and shoulders- another summer tryst

to pass the time. The hours were cheap

and plentiful to toss away with a shrug,

and a wet towel.

.

No collector or antique shop has them

for sale. All the gold in Knox

won't bring them back, so I get out

the albumns with the black and white

pictures-there we are smiling like idiots,

clutching a towel, ready to

step out of the film and dance forever-

ON and on and on and on and on.

.

One cloud's as soft as another.

06/03/2007

Posted on 06/03/2007
Copyright © 2026 Jane E Pearce