the tree
I eye the clouds racing by as the cool wet wind strikes my face;

reflecting on days past

no - day,

a single day.

Wonder if others think the same with the
stinging of nature's tears against my face,

the autumn air fills my lungs

leaving a longing . . .

longing for the scent of jasmine oil

and the heat of skin

as we moved against the other.

We began sitting facing each other as we ate Chinese and


taking me in




Lost knowing we would succumb to the prohibited feelings that grew;

yet we strode onward to our end

The taste of her moist lips

The strength of her skin next mine.

Our words . . . worlds . . . collided
forming one

once . . .


no more.

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