Pussy willows motion to a yellow warbler, for its pollen drips like liquid gold.
Focusing your lens, you beckon your loving directions softly to me.
My heart hastens its beat, warming me, as I follow your instructions.
Flip flops shed on the pond’s edge, where we have poured our passion and fed our love.
My white dress hugs my hips, as thin material is like a second skin, as I enter the water.
Surrounding my waist, I throw my reddish hair back, and my curls kiss our liquid mirror.
No longer can I see your dazzling green eyes, but your smile makes me quiver.
My laughter echoes like a child on a mountain range, as you joyfully click your camera.
Preserving our love in moments, etched on film in your darkroom, I am yours.
My white dress now hangs on a chair, never to be washed, for your smell,
and the scent of honeysuckle is written forever in black notes.
Only the white keys of the piano will play for me,
when I can remember, once again, the name of that boy.
A woman dressed in white gives me a tiny cup filled with pills,
I wonder who she is, as a blue butterfly,
seeks refuge in my room.