and promising words,
ocean blue,
cool and foamy
under that bright
Balboa Island sky.
He reached up,
caught her melody
in mid-flight,
and rubbed it
deep into his skin--
it smelled
bruising sweet
like coconut-scented
suntan oil.
He swooned,
and for a moment,
he forgot
that he looked
the same way
sulphury, rotten eggs
smelled.
Years later
he found her
on Amazon.com,
having published
a children’s book
in Austria,
and he wanted
to contact her,
to show her
who she’d dismissed
decades ago,
but remembering
that he’d only gotten
fatter,
and that the songs
of his youth
-even the ones
he’d written her-
now sounded
like cheap wine
gone sour,
he thought
better of contacting
her
and decided to
write this instead.
[Written for #meetingthebar at www.dversepoets.com - c'mon, c'mon c'mon!]
