To Be Softened (and kissed)

I’ll share a moment with you.

The day is lowering into eve 
tucked in by our February smoke 
the color of whiskey and gravel, 
and the yard is reminiscent 
like a memory of a memory. 

She raises her hand sweetly 
to my straying hair, a thread 
stringing out of a sweater. 
She does not tangle it or tug 
until it is bare and permissive. 
She lovingly places it behind 
an ear that has never heard 
the words of adoration before. 

Then my ear hears her breath 
softer than the silent wind, 
then another, and shortly 
her breaths vow into my own. 
As the light fondles the dark, 
spoken from her painted mouth, 
she utters some endearment 
over my lips, red and austere.

In a moment, she carries night 
quicker than a winter hour. 
All of my hardness is washed 
in an embrace sweet as whiskey 
bearing no gravel roughness 
and the world sinks in content 
like an extinct memory reborn.

Sawyer Fell


18 years old

More by Sawyer Fell