On a field in summer

It had been a year.

Maybe two.

And now ‘twas the afternoon.

Warm sun, patchy grass, a gingham blanket

and territory just newly discovered.

It was like

Taking a first drink after parched throats and--

No, it was like coming up for air

And—it was like falling,

Falling into mouths and noses and smiles

So familiar, but so new and refreshing.

Like coming home again.

Without time or purpose or end.

They laughed.

Smirked, even.

It was right under our noses,

he said.

And it took us this long.

Eyes closed, they smiled in the shadow of their figures.