Golden Hourglass
by Suzanne Ryan

    These days tomorrow’s seasons take me so suddenly
    One square inch of salty bare skin
    Exposed through the hole of a sleeve,
    Accidental promises made in the lingering glow of dusk;
    Your prophecies of a dusty summer shed,
    Earthen feet,
    Green apple shade,
    Grass stains like two thumb-prints pressed on my knees,
    Your hands around my waist like an hourglass.
    Shall we dance this Louis Armstrong ballad slowly
    And pretend that long hours stretch long wings
    With all the soft skill to cradle us
    Long after the sun has made its final descent?

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