Citrus fingers and sticky lips,
Smiles flashing with words I missed
That wet-hair night, slick pavement light,
The hours led to where I’d never been;
Right down the centre of the street,
Right up the rafters, echoing stairs–
You remind me of someone I’ve always known.
Did we slurp popsicles in backyard summer?
Were we running in grass-stained torn-jeans sock-feet?
Did I dream the ocean was a running faucet,
And we were just putting on the kettle?
I agree with the colour of your eyes,
They send me jam jars full of springtime:
New green and the smell of morning rain;
This is hardly a memory,
But one day, maybe, it will be.