In June
Sitting in the library,
It might appear I am only waiting for my next tutoring student.
But, in my heart and thoughts,
I relive the last moment before I came in here,
When, in our car,
You kissed me.
You kissed me, and I was young again--
No, better than young,
Because this love we share
Is better than anything I knew then.
Our kids behind us, smiling,
Calling, "See ya later, Mom!"
And the hot summer sun,
And the oaks and maples that shaded us from it,
All receded behind the wonder
Of my spirit exploding from my chest,
At the touch of your lips, your tongue.
How can you do this to me,
When we have been together long enough
That the self-help books say
It should all have grown stale by now?
I don't know that we've done anything
In particular to "keep it going."
Or have we?
Is it just that, in the midst of finances and missing shoes,
Homeschool projects and Camp Fire clubs,
We simply "keep going,"
And that doing that together keeps us in love?
Or is it that your eyes have never changed,
And are still the brightest blue I have ever seen,
And twinkle like nothing else in the universe when you're happy?
I only know that,
When you smile,
My world is filled with light,
And all is right within it.
I only know that,
When your lips touch mine,
I am moved to slip inside the library,
And write poetry.
June 19, 2001
Return to the Library.
Return to the Front Door.
E-mail me at Weavre@graffiti.net