Six years later, I once again
had something interesting to say.
And we were back at your friend's house,
in that dark room, with the fashionable sounds
of college radio drowning out
all conversation but ours.
Your eyes--they sparkled with laughter
when the crowd pushed us closer,
and I could still remember the smell of your hair,
and it brings back the memories six years later.
But this time, when I leaned in, you pulled away.
And I hung in space, and stilled my breath, and pulled myself awake.
Your eyes hold the sunrise, but it's misty at dawn,
and I never thought your memory would linger this long.
Copyright 2011 by Dan Bach and Derek Dean.