Island Summer

Forgetful of shouldn’t and don’t
we lost ourselves in the shimmer of summer
casting off restrictions with our clothes.
As we lay cradled within the camouflage
of knee-deep meadow grass
avowals were made, promises whispered,
and the mockingbird sang ceaselessly
his borrowed tunes,  ending with 
esoteric trills I’d never heard before.

In the afterwards, pawing through the detritus
I found the one true thing—
  the way your face fit 
      into the curve of my cupped hand.

© 2020 Lily Colbin

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