These Days

Back there to those months

we loved each other.

There between the uneven

rows of apple trees

tucked in a valley of the Blue Ridge;

run a hand through your hair,

sugar rush over taste buds, snapped stem,

smiles breaking over our faces.

Back when the sun didn’t exit 

the sky before early post meridiem;

catching myself, the smallest trace of inhibition,

the anxiety of loving you. 

There in your bed as we found

origin in the simple touch 

between the smile and dilated pupils;

summer was warm on our skin,

breaths held in pleasure, closing the blinds,

hands locked to the promise of another chance.

Back to the ease of the ceiling fan’s rotation

around our sleeping bodies;

tongue in cheek, missed alarms,

checks and balances were never in my favor with you.

Wishing to go back there

is a trip I’m taking less and less these days.