The Pontificators

Oh Patty. Red
hair and freckles, and that secret
smile. I remember, under the table
on the covered patio, stacks of old
linoleum turned it into a private cave.

Would a kiss be cool, like
an ice cube on the tongue? Your lips
were warm and yielding. I was falling
into butter and cream.

I thought we were forever, but
by the fifth grade we were done.
Do you remember?

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