SMOKE RINGS • by DJ Barber

You blew smoke rings at my tattoo, but I didn’t mind; for your smile was like an April shower rainbow, your face as shining as the Harvest Moon. And to think one as fair and young as you had given her love to an old, hard-fisted backwoodsman like me.

I gaze through the glass from my crumpled bedclothes with fond memories of bare feet leaving tracks on that sandy, summer beach when we combed for frilly shells. Or chilly walks under moonbeam skies; early spring crocus bordering our frosty path.

Your long, feminine neck, splashed with scents of autumn harvest apple orchards, filled my nares with delight. The supple softness of your freckled caress, your silky kiss, your breath like fresh autumn ale, left me shuddering for just a little more.

As cold winter touched, your loveglow, like a crackling hearth, ever warmed my very soul. And outside, deep in boot-high snow, your cold-chilled cheeks shone like ripe stawberries as your windswept raven hair danced around your steamy, velvet voice.

Lonely on a stone-covered hillside–autumn leaves trickle. Some still bright, some now brown and brittle; they spell out the story of life–of love. Yours, oh, too short, was grabbed away in supple prime. But I shall always remember–smoke rings, love, and you.

DJ Barber lives in the Northwest where the warmth of love is always appreciated.

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