The summer we shared still
haunts my senses, even now.

I remember, too clearly,
each balmy hour we spent
under a fading willow tree;

we would create our own
picket fence
with arms and legs and hands
to keep the whole world out.

You were keeping me.
I loved you for it.

You fed me sorbet one day,
a blood-red pot of
ice and fruit and love.

I can still feel that
cold crunch and tang
on my lips,
your eyes always capturing mine,
as we shared a moment.
Your moment.

Our time.