The After Taste

Things are always saccharine

when sitting over here

or here

or here

but never here

We couldn't seem to keep each other on the straightened arrow

only off the beaten path

and we were always in the face of crescent moon

that's how we kept in shape, you and I

with our hearts beating in the right direction

with the echoes of mirth

and our stomachs in pain,

the good kind of course

and on Sunday evenings,

when we were in separate rooms

I remembered all the hours in between

and I was certain there would still be good lemonade at 87

and then again at 92