Echoes of the Carole King
record we listened to
earlier that night fill
the silence in my head,
as I reach my hand
across the darkness toward you.
Impulsively, I have flicked off
the light switch in that
funny little outbuilding your
grandfather built to house
a ping pong table.
Now, in the still blackness of
this mild summer evening,
we're not playing ping pong.
As your mouth raises up to
meet mine, I breathe in the
exquisite aroma of your breath.
Time stops for those
few moments, and NOW I
understand. Now, in
this most pristine of
moments, I know why
it is that whole
nation-states have risen
and fallen for this
thing called love.
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