One in a Million
I didn't think I could be tamed. But he did. Balloon flights over fields of poppies, a Carmen Miranda hat topped with assorted fruit, straight fine hair coiled into permanent springs; black rows of olives ringing each finger—all the silliness of him and more: talks into the night about parabolas, alternate universes, void out of void. After thirty years of fire and rain, I can be with him and laugh, and feel my heart skip every time I hear his footsteps clip up the walk before he opens the front door and calls out, "Hi honey, I'm home."
I never knew
until he kissed me
last love