He touched the tip of his burning cigarette
To the pattern on my dress.
(how stupid was that?)
We howled with laughter
Because the circle matched the diameter of the center of a flower.
How intoxicated with new lust we were.
Although there are no reasons
For the foolish path I followed him down.
I was so innocent in the era of free love, sit-ins and dancing in the park
But I wasn’t brave and Singapore Slings were the strongest thing
That passed my lips.
We lived in a small downstairs apartment
Where all we could see was the bottom third of each passerby
When the grass grew too long outside the window
All we saw were knees.
We were so much in love
And knew nothing about each other
And that is how we built our wobbly relationship.
Now those photographs sit in a plastic zip-lock bag
Of Birthdays past, pain and jabs of betrayal, years gone by
Snapshots of our growing dissent and shadows.