Past. Snatches of pop songs
like flat stones skipping the waves
by the grainy sand. Sandals and driftwood.
The edge of the jetty, bicycles tossed aside,
swinging our bare feet, the ships in the distance like hulks of rock.
Tan skin and smoke and the edge in your voice.
(A word from you and I would have
closed my eyes, surrendered to fate
leapt off the rock into)
Would you have done so for me though?
Even before things went pear-shaped, was I
ever on your mind as you were mine?
(Did you ever) imagine we could fly?
I could never tell you what I wanted (to say),
Waiting for tomorrow, soft jazz and dulcet tones
are my companion. Desperation and the moon.
Do we fake a smile again
when it’s time to say (good)bye?
In response to the daily post prompt: