You, evening of ours, how beautifully your lips tasted; stars in your unbraided hair spread over still waters like lily pads; rosy skin like the flesh of a pink grapefruit freshly open.
I still can breathe in your aromas of cherry flavored cigars and sleepless expectations.
Exiled under this oak tree…
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image: Anna Ismagilova; Shutterstock; [link]
@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)