Epilogue
It will be tomorrow
by the time we leave this place,
empty out into the moon-colored breeze
and the eventual dawn
of a different life:
it will take us that long
to become ourselves again
And it may be months
before I return to these faces,
sink again into cushions of the past
and my old familiar universe
I may crawl back to this corner
only to find that the masks
don't fit anymore, the dice
don't roll like they used to
and the autumn wind carried me
farther than expected,
splitting our roots, transplanting me
farther than limbs can grow
But in that last look
over my shoulder
I have captured a moment
in the slamming of the door:
your smile,
melting across your face
like butter on fresh baked bread,
the last bite of stolen chocolate
sliding over lips and tongue,
bittersweet, forbidden,
lingering
long after the final morsel
is gone.
Copyright (c) 2000 by Beth Kinderman. This is my original work, so please respect it.
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