Remembering is not so much a problem
as just not forgetting the taste
of your fresh squeezed, unsweetened lemon juice.
My saliva glands still go wild
and picturing you in your faded cutoffs,
trying to look Hebrew or even hippie,
god you were so skinny.
The only truth I can find in it all
is that we were both Sheinkinian
if but for the night.
Humping in the alleyway,
just off the street,
we loved it so much
that we did not even hear
all the other humpers.
I hear you finished your graduate study the next day
but have to wonder
if you were still faking orgasm?
It's not a lot to say
about Tel-Aviv in July,
but I still crave unsweetened lemon juice.
© ron wilson