Lost Love
Lynn Mibell and I slept
on a flattened futon and dreamt
of better days. Days when her
dear brother was not dying of AIDS.
Days when our love life flourished.
When we walked hand in hand
along the bold face of
Stone Mountain. We were giants.
We danced all night in New Orleans.
After partying all day on the horse-
racing track of the Heritage
Jazz Festival. We danced on clouds.
As if our legs, our feet were
divinely influenced, kissed, kissed
kissed, by the gods, superhuman.
Now, Lynn Mibell lays
on that old bed and dreams of
nothing short of monumental
change. Nothing short of
ending good and evil universally.
Copyright © Dean Walker | Year Posted 2006
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