Saturday, November 13, 2021

the sticky days of August / when honey still clings to the back of throats / we crossed paths / it could have happened anywhere in the world at any hour / but it was meant to happen outside the laser tag arena on a Wednesday evening / a subtle wave and golden hair that palaces would bend over backward for / I still pour over that first portrait of him / both of us craved to stay in the shell of that day / I’d play it over enough to fill lifetimes / we held on past lasers and drinks / the waves drank the moon and we called the beach a sleeping bag / our starlit talk met dawn’s blushing cheeks

the crisp days in October / when you swear you can smell the burnt orange of the leaves / six weeks since the first brush of his palm / I traced my fingertips over the cream summer dress / patterns of lace scattered like his ginger freckles / his royal blue button-up belonged to midnight melodies / beating autumn found us through cracks in the treetops / coating our heads in sun-kissed crowns / vows hummed on the hilly forest / we danced among an earth that felt like our own / legend has it hikers can still feel the beat of our gallops and swings / we followed the call of dusk to an ice cream stand / and toasted to marriage with chocolate fudge

This piece was printed in the Roots & Wings issue of Paddler Press.

Post a Comment

© Kelli Lage. Design by FCD.