Young Decade


Silk pressed, caressed my shoulder. She
whispered softly in my ear like petals
falling lightly. Closed my eyes to promise
with my heart my heart, forever (less
ever, though not yet never, had we known).
We sowed as dandelions through the field
turning eyes from arctium prowling
plainly at her sides that summer.
And slept awhile the river wept away
and seemed to sweep our sorrows with it.
We drowned a little overnight
in the shallow sea of moonbeams lain
before us as a bed, and woke
too many years too late
to call it love.


About A. S. Ellis

I am always learning. Always. And that is as it should be.
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