They don’t make memories like that anymore…

Katrina K Guarascio

The newness of Saturday morning
still lies upon lips.
Pomegranate and mint leaves
perfume the moment.

A drop of water, steady in suspension,
reflects a smile between girl and boy.

This fickle flash,
malleable as smoke circles in air streams,
revives a remembrance
crisp as coal.

You used to say I was a sketch.
Charcoal pencil rubbing white pages.
Unshaded ribbons
around twisted branches.

Now, with misshapen limbs
I separate east from west,
and pretend not to notice
sooted fingertips against earlobe.

Mislaid images of a morning,
fragmented.

I never told you
how I like my coffee.
Didn’t want you to have that piece of me
spread on bread to satiate appetite.

I prefer you drink me,
let me bitter,
scar taste buds,
embed my essence
deep in your mouth
to tongue
until next we meet.

You look at me,
weary eyes across coffee cups.
Without a word,
call me your champion.
Steal a kiss,
tart to taste.

Leave the flavor of this moment,
imperfect,
unfinished,
for me to savor.

“They don’t make memories like that anymore…”is previously published in The Fall of a Sparrow (2014).