by Aki Schilz
Do you remember the gentle ease
of a date with the girl you said was too posh?
her gypsy scarf was coined, and jangled
when she walked through the pub.
Do you remember meeting her on a street corner,
remarking on the fact that her skirt was short,
her legs bare, and she blushed
and wondered, if you liked her?
Do you remember the day etched in sunlight
by the pool? You walked her to the park
and asked her, what she was thinking.
She frowned, and said, ‘I think I love you.’
Do you remember how that same girl
kept her eyes tight shut when you had sex
until you kissed her eyelids and told her
she was beautiful?
Or the nights when the stars
trembled in their mirrored pools
and you held her body close
until the morning brought sleep?
You promised her forever;
she laughed, and told you
forever’s a long time
her ring finger,
and said nothing.
I remember only my mouth,
pushed open by your rough kiss,
stinging, the night you confessed.
When you were gone I wept
because your lips were cold
and I wondered,
if she’d felt it, too.