Sunday, August 8, 2010

You may not believe this,
but I'm thinking of you,
as rain pours down,
on this humid summer night,
my skin feels damp and hot,
and the feeling reminds me of hot summer nights,
not so long ago,
riding bikes under stars,
looking for ghosts in the vineyards and fields,
counting stones in country walls,
wondering who built them and how long ago,
tracing angels and epitachs in moonlit cemetaries,
skipping rocks on pools named Diana,
walking to the end of the road,
our road,
holding hands meant so much,
damp and dreaming,
still wet behind the ears,
amazed by breaks in the clouds,
that let us see the moon,
laying on blankets, in a field covered in dew,
waiting for the sun to eclipse the moon

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