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.


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