for Magpie Tales, Prose Poetry, Writing

A House Party on June

Stanley Kubrick for Look Magazine, 1949

I still remembered that one fateful June night.

Raindrops pouring, you and me under my umbrella.

Tagging along the sidewalks, skipping over water puddles,

making our way to this local bar that we made our weekend nights getaway station.

 

I still remembered that instant connection we had.

Holding each other hands as if we have done that naturally in the past,

the outright kissing in front of our friends,

the right-then-and-there confession in your room, on your bed.

 

I still remembered the night outs that followed the first,

the solo slow dancing in the middle of the dancefloor,

the scent of your skin and the softness of your palms,

and the lines that formed on the sides of your eyes when you laugh.

 

I still remembered the mornings after,

you lying next to me, reeking of alcohol and perfume.

Oh how sweet it is to just lie and sleep by your side

after going home, tired of dancing at 3 AM.

 

I still remembered the spark that we had

when we’re still living in that spark we have.

And for all that you’ve done for me,

I would even be the one to light up your cigarette for you.

 

**Written for The Magpie Tales

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