It was a bed of leaves, <br />skunk cabbage to be exact. <br />The urges have it, someone said <br />at that re-union in the smallest of, <br />and rustiest of towns, whoppeee. <br /> <br />Goddammit all those claps and straps, <br />a temperate climate does not make allowance <br />for urgency, I bless the tropics, truly <br />where barely seconds are required to <br />give in or take her up on sudden weakness. <br /> <br />So, on a bed of fragrant if not pleasant green observers <br />we reminisced and told each other about time, <br />how it had cheated us and raced ahead to brag <br />about the years when we were struggling to pass. <br />So we made up for it, felt guilty in the morning. <br /> <br />But at a whim we sat at breakfast, holding hands <br />we fed each other country sausage and farm eggs <br />and in our eyes we saw the past as if we lived there <br />until we did, had been transported back in time. <br />I licked her fingers then, all ten, and one by one, <br />we closed our eyes and all the world did go away.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/from-my-attic-x/
