Happy Endings

Two Part 1
More than that night,
I remember those wounded
animal days: I couldn’t meet the sky,
(those brilliant) sunny days of friendship
in your eyes without mine blurring
to wash away memory
dust, floating on dreams and settling
in the corners; the quick bisous
you pulled me into, as goodbye,
and as silent apology.

I enjoyed our breakfasts.

Part 2
I remember you turned
our second hug on our first date
into our first kiss; I remember
(the way) you tasted wine
in my lips, fluttered your tongue
against them, and that made me wonder
how many wings your words had,
and how quickly they would fly.

I remember you
never saw me dressed in
sunlit minutes,  always only
draped in blankets and your arms ,
and you were always slipping
sleep in my eyes, up, away, always tenderly.

I enjoyed our evenings.

Part 3
There he sat, (made of moon,
a slender crescent, alabster
chiseled cheekbones
and who could use,
but never love, brown sugar skin)
across the kitchen table,
carving a believable apology
out of Montreal evening air, – I felt
the gentle weight of months he spent
hanging thick in the air practising
how to make finally something
for me out of nothing.

Part 4
And, after being tender to me
for many nights, there he vanished,  (made
of brown, sun-baked clay and
water in his voice, promises of pitchers
to quench thirst, and in his eyes,)
flipped his tail and disappeared, his
words like butterflies fluttered by,
into Bluffer’s Beach, he left,
leaving my skin blistered with sand
and scales and salt water sunburns.

Part 5
And I remember you both,
your sweet and surprising
differences:  I
will never forget
the tenderness of hearts,
the toll of guilt,
the necessity of respect,
the gift of love,
the grace of second chances,
or the miracle of happy memories.

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