In our youth, mouths still plump
with unspoken truths, you tattooed
your heart on my breast, lay
beside me on sagging mattresses
in cheap coldwater flats.
Trees curved sideways from
the blast of our innocence.

Our feet took different paths, but
I never forgot you.

Now, ash in my hair, mouth puckered 
from too many soured kisses,
we find each other again.

You kiss my tattoo, faded and scarred,
bring my breasts close to your chest.

Trees move in the rising winds, dip
branches low, sing songs of a quieter
celebration deep into the sighing night.

Pris Campbell

Art: Venus by Jean Ingres

Music: Quiet Cove by Dave Edwards

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