I see you even now as I saw you in the heat of summer, down
in the lobby below where I perched in my loft between the stairs, you with sun
dress and sunglasses glowing where the sunbeams poured down through the wide
windows of what once was a bank, you're 33 years sitting on you so lightly I
mistake you for a teen, virginal not a virgin, an attraction that still makes
me ache, now that cold has replaced heat, and you like summer and fall have
passed, into a much chillier season.
I did not see you
leave only heard rumor of it, yet feel your absence as if someone cut out my
heart and it still beats even in its absence. I pray to get it back when I know
I can't, no more than I can restore that summer when you looked so grand and
yet, even then remote and inaccessible. a virgin who is not a virgin, who even
then needed to leave to be with someone other than me, sun dress and sunglasses,
caught in sunbeams that remain always in me, lost about seeing you leave
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