I Carry no Trinkets

The things I wore that day we danced

- the floral spotted blue-on-white blouse

over cut off jeans,

neither bought and neither gifted -

I sweated in them sweetly that day

and care not where they are now.

They clothed a feeling

somber, free

that danced to music in our heads.

It was high summer, hot.

We should have left for home,

but addicted

,instead we swam 

in the high confusion and intimacy 

between us all.

I alone could end our bliss.

We all knew, mine was a heart earnest.

The devoted.

"I must return to school."

Still, in pictures, silhouettes

of he rolling me over his back

in the kitchen of the week,

I see the clothing no longer travels with me.

The kitchen now is someone elses

and the man now adorned in ring and vow.

Yet, on lives the soul 

of a Summer of Sundays.

I remember for them.

I carry no trinkets.

I remember for them.