You, evening of ours, how beautifully your lips tasted;
stars in your unbraided hair spread over still waters like lily pads;
rosy skin like the flesh of a pink grapefruit freshly open.
I still can breathe in your aromas of cherry flavored cigars and sleepless expectations.
Exiled under this oak tree, blue shadows under my eyes,
I think of him waiting for me in that place
where the sky meets the green of the grass and flowers bathe in clear rivers.
Exiled by my own will, lizards running at my feet, I wait for the pain to stop.
It never does.
~ Gabriela Marie Milton