I remember you with Jim Beam
in hand,
ready to pop my cherry
just like I wanted.
Blue eyes, dark brown hair
sculpted features
you talked about nothing
while we drank from the bottle.
Upstairs, we "did it"
on my futon; don't remember
what I said, maybe "I love you."
It's possible.
I do remember you said
"I don't love you" as you
literally ran down the stairs,
out to your station wagon.
At 18, I thought it was love;
I never heard from you again,
and here you are:
(the internet's a scary place
sometimes)
Chiropractor practice with your
wife, losing your hair,
same eyes.
Can't help but wonder
if you even remember.
9 comments:
Oh, ugh. You do touch on these bits of reality so very well.
This one is a real dose. It stirred me up a little. Love it.
Yes, you really do show reality so well. I love that ending. Powerful poem, Holly.
Powerful write good one on the past this is how past love is and the guy you went for looks totally dif now. I remember my first love it's sad cause he passed away in 2002
I'm sorry to hear that Misty...
wow, great piece.. love the flow and sense of rejection. i recently wrote a poem about that. :)
Great poem, Holly. Excellent narrative, and a tone of honesty, intimate.
powerful and dark with so much honestly and truth.... just getting back to my site and finally reading yours!! AWESOME!
Wow. This is one of those I wonder how I left it sitting here. It's quite embarrassing actually.
Thank you all for reading and being so kind.
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