places pushed

back into the memory

of an afterlife that we have

all the time in the world

burning deep within our past

like a fire built out of every

pinecone in the entire forest

young branches mixed in the discussions

of every touching moment that close ones

have been around to have

bit on top of a pair of eyes

squinting in the cold

is a whole mess of mop head that

the wind had a first hello to this morning

and does it appear amazing that I am

completely recalling the night long ago

when we shared a blanket and

watched the conversation move the time along

wishing for the clock to stop

so we could stare at each other

and talk without worrying about the dawn

if you could put your hand on

mine and remember the tides of

march that bring is together

once more

About jaybeasley2

a writer, a painter, a poet, a wordsmith
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