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Soapy Hands
'Ours is a Parking Lot Love
a sometimes
Shouts Too Loud Love, ' I said.
'A Let's Talk It Out On The Porch Love.' she says
'so the kids won't hear.'
Slow walks, ' I say
Beach talks, ' you say
'holiday stress
and just please don't tell
those same old jokes again this year.'
'I solemnly agree
and forget and
tell the same old jokes again
and your eyes gently roll
and I complain
'how come your sister knows
what I like in bed? '
and my eyes gently roll.
I complain that
'I can't find anything-
you keep moving my stuff.'
'You mean the stuff you just throw in the closet'? she says
letting her eyes gently roll.
'I come up behind as you do the dishes, ' I say
'like now kissing your neck
as you gently protest;
soapy hands and wetting places
we silently stand like this
gentle breathing
our unspoken celebration
of our Not Perfect Love
but one which is ours
realizing again
that our memories
while not perfect
are ours
binding us
shared;
that
that Future Tense we'd pursued so long
had settled in
in our
sudden appreciation
of Now
and warm
soapy
soothing hands, '
I say.
You turn around
facing me
apron soapy
mouth open.
poem
by
Lonnie Hicks
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