The Cedarville Review 2018

POETRY AND VISUAL ART 29 She remembered what could have been, Crooked bowties stained with thyme, Brass toned chuckles and an ivory grin, Or to know and remember, he smelled of lime. And then time slipped, it fell far under, And he knew the beginning could not be altered. He sat against a tree, his slacks steeped in dew, With raspberry stained hands, he greeted the middle onward.