Scent of ripe quince—
how it wholly takes over.
Salt. Butter.
Pure cold water.
Release of carrot
just pulled from the earth.
Purple of lilac.
Playing with words.
Sweet thrill as a note
rises up through the lips.
Kissing, of course—
the sweet red crush of it.
Sun on my shoulder.
Voice of the lover.
The moment before
the moon breaks over
the horizon. Reading.
Walking for days.
Staring at stars.
High alpine skies.
And all the things I didn’t try.
All the unwalked paths.
Sleeping in. Waking up.
Uncontainable laughter.
And the silence after.