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It was one of those days that gets me through.
Lazy river and slipper rocks skipping in the late-summer sun.
Laying and lounging in tall leaves of grass,
lallygagging behind the ample clouds as they morphed into obscure shapes.
So many high points in these final hours before we fell back into synch.
You can tumble down and lay in hastily-made beds of make-believe,
but you can’t keep time from marching on.
The boy I was with had starry eyes that appeared to me in daylight
and captivated me like a bewitching allegory.
Together we were Gilgamish and Enkidu; I was just a little on the wild side.
In the wilderness, it was hard to be tamed,
but I became human again in his arms under a canopy of florescent foliage.
He called me his Eurydice, his Beatrice, his Helen of Troy.
He’d begun the season as Jay Gatz in my eyes,
but had revealed himself as Gatsby through and through.
On that summer day he offered me Purgatory and above,
but I didn’t need the Elysian Fields.
I needed the setting sun and the final moments of summer to last for eternity.
But I took the moment in all it’s splendor, laughing and splashing,
believing in something greater than myself for the first time.
Soon the warm day turned into a golden dusk with a cool breeze.
We were joined by bold faces who’d been foreign places,
boasting and bragging about extraordinary odysseys,
only to return home to recognizable changes.
Everything feels calculated as the boy whistles the Song of Songs
and we bounce our ideas off the old acoustic guitar.
Our plans and aspiration from three months ago were send up like flares that burned out before they could be made out among the stars.
Positioned under and endless sky.
I didn’t know this day would rival the Pax Romana.
But when curfew drew near and the streetlights flickered,
nothing was left but Marley’s ghost to rattle our chains.
This was where my perception began and beauty was placed before me.
A new focus and a goodnight kiss.
Taking that journey to the river wasn’t quiet the end, but a whole new beginning.