A Tupelo Caress

You called me crying,

saying Reggie has gone.

The drama of teenaged

love turned bad.

Come over, I coax.

We’ll talk and dance

to sad songs, and you’ll

feel better when we do.

My shoulder grows wet

with your tears as Elvis

croons softly, asking

Are you lonesome tonight?

Love has gone but I am here,

alone with you.

Our bodies swaying,

melded in solace … or desire?

I will grant you comfort

while reveling in the gentle

swell of your breasts.

We all play our parts.

Tybee Island Memory

How sweet the feel of

your skin against mine

the twenty years

we slept that way.

I remember that

New Year’s Eve—

the unusually warm

breeze caressing our

sweaty bodies after

making love in the

middle of the afternoon—

and our kiss at midnight

promising a century

of love to come.

Now I lie back in the

night and yearn to feel

your bare shoulder

against my chest or

your leg against my hip—

only to reach out and

find empty sheets and

a bittersweet memory

of our romance, when

we slept well     and long     and naked—

together.