Ex

to the one we love
that we desire we always remember the specific

hard to forget
really: the mere touch of the hand
scent never leaves from the palm
the nearness of the breaths
there is still fire burning
crackling popcorn nearby

that time where you were seated near
at the park
in one of those benches
facing the road

the smell of the pines still
sticking in your nose
the laughter of children
playing

that exact bench that spot
where you left
the mark

the feel of wood
the color of the wind
the taste of that ice cream on the
crispy cone
that orange sunset and then the neon lights
that started to flicker
like stars in the sky
that evening

the sadness of departure
finally

oh, it made you stronger.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!