Ephemerality

What she remembers
is the sweetness
of that strawberry snow cone,
the way it lingered on her lips
like their first kiss
in Zilker Park before midnight,

the unrelenting humidity
of that mid-July heat wave,
the way it clung to her bare legs
formed salt on his brow,
the way it inhabited every small space
between them, every small space
where their slick bodies didn’t touch,

the chemical-infused air
of that neighborhood swimming pool,
the way the cool water felt
on her tanned legs
as she broke its surface
and slipped in beside him.

1 Comment

  1. This poem is well-crafted. It looks great; reads quickly. It is erotic, but far from graphic.

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