Winter sun glared outside the picture window, pushing a warm blush through closed curtains, hiding the pallid drifts of winter snow. She and I lie breathless under a thick, maroon wool blanket on her front couch ignoring the Jerry Springer show and smoking her dad’s secret stash while he was at work on the Alaskan pipeline. Her hand reached up form the heat and brushed miles of blonde locks from her face as she asked me if I’d marry her, if I’d take her away to an island somewhere in the Caribbean. Take her to where nobody would know us and we could work at a hotel by day and play ska music for the punters at midnight beach parties, languishing together in the balmy nighttime salt spray breezes. The full moon would follow us like the eye of God and the stars would light our way to our own piece of Avalon. But I was too young. She was my best friend, my first smile, breathing heavy, close, asking me to take her away and make her happy. Neither of us spoke any more that day except to say goodnight. Words were paltry things, useless in the mouths of young lovers like us. But we felt more alive than we ever would be. Alive and breathless. The curtains closed to the winter outside; we could have smothered, as we melted together in the heat beneath that thick, maroon wool blanket.
~I once won $50 in a poetry contest for reading this prose poem. I present to you the edited version. You know me, I cannot leave well enough alone. That's just not my bag, you know what I'm saying?
So glad to know you all are still here. Talk to you soon.