Monday, November 21, 2005

Leaving the Bubble

I gaze at that hillock
so fragrant, pristine
and think of your buttock
so taut at sixteen.

The frantic gyrations
of foolhardy youth—
too gripped with sensations
to learn from the truth.

As flashbacks unbidden
rekindle delight,
I long to stay hidden
like we were that night.

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