DOWNSTREAM

by Steven Gulvezan

Old broken crone
How the young men
Swooned
Under your window
On the hot
August nights
Of your youth
Time has a way
Of passing
But maybe not
Remember
How sweet the ice cream
Tasted
Strolling along the boulevard
Twilight falling
Your hand in the hand
Of that certain someone
Who flavored your fancy
That summer night
So long ago
Memories have drifted
Downstream
Dip your hand into the water
Close your eyes
Remember
Biting into the cone
The frozen confection
Deliciously
Cold
The feel of his arm
Brushing on yours
A cool breeze
Stirring
Your white cotton gown
Did you stop?
Did you kiss?
Hot tongues flicking
In each other’s mouths
Time has a way of passing
No more