Love and other entreaties

by David Kozatch

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.