we met in april
though the tarot card reader
had told me march
I didn’t mind you at all
a subtlety
a hint of peach
in barely a breeze
sweet, but not too much
simple, almost innocent
the way you would
briefly hold me
when we walked
the way our fingers
would touch
slow and easy
not looking for a why
but happy with a
why not
I write this in the
summertime
in blazing heat
after a wild, wild june
I will always remember
what I will likely forget
is you:
the quiet, uneventful
frustrating
spring.
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