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Rolling Down the Hill
I remember
Our first slide down the feverish slope.
Homey soil licked our sweat-cleansed faces and
Hill stubble tickled my tender pudgy
Fingers clinging onto your cotton T-shirt
Suspended
In the syrupy air.
Hollow ethereal smoke began to sing an aria
And saltine cracker leaves gilded in your favorite colors
Cavorted in the wafts of flaming candles we bought
To share between our earthy souls.
Alone I sat watching, breathing, listening, waiting,
Though I had hated those colors
Until you told me you loved them.
Then the fuzzy white coat of the solitary caterpillar
Began to shed,
Curling up within its own icy lace as did we
Under the bare arms of the hugging tree,
Who sieved with dappled shadows the moon dust that glimmered,
For a moment
But waned in the next.
Now the stars are shedding powdery tears
Asteroid dust that condenses in
My thirsty nostrils
And it all begins to run with the first drops down my cheek
As again I roll down the hill with my grimy face
Incapable of stopping, losing control
Sinewy fingers slipping from
The floating ghost
Of you.
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