Contributor: Cynthia Pitman

- -
I don’t think about you anymore.
Not about the first days
when I shyly took your offered hand
and walked with you
wherever you went.
Not about our first kisses,
sweet electric sparks
that shocked my heart.
Not about our late-night trysts,
the urgent touching,
the fierce yearning,
the heat.
Not about the inevitable waning days
of passion that chilled our fervor
and silenced our hearts.
Not about the break,
the crack,
the crevice,
the final breach.
Not about the later walks
without your hand to hold,
not about our ended endless kisses,
not about our distant frenzied trysts.
Not about any of it.
Not about you.
Never about you.
Not anymore.


- - -
I am a retired teacher with work published in Leaves of Ink, 3rd Wednesday (contest finalist), Vita Brevis, and others. My book, The White Room, is forthcoming.