memories

she returns to long ago;
she seeks him
as the lizard seeks
its hot rock.

an old don, now,
whispered baritone
slither tongue,
he covers her
with passion-flowers
still young
and tender vines;
memories
of wind-swept beaches
stars painted on black skies
the weathered fisher’s hut.

they share another
torrid moonlight
in a cave by the sea,
drinking brut
through long-stemmed roses
eating chocolate.

they celebrate
old love.

marsha sweet

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