And, were you the one who had whispered,
while surrendering to that dreamy, nebulous present-state
that lovers will tell you
feels like a blissful eternity but
in retrospect can seem as fleeting as the flicker of an eyelash pressed against their lover's cheek,
“it's okay, you can come inside me,”
after which I said,
“are you sure?”
and you had replied that, yes, you were sure?
Memory, like love and other entreaties,
can be a slippery thing.
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Another short excerpt from my novel (unpublished)
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Last line caught me by surprise and changed my read in an instant. I like that.
Thanks Steven.