eulogy someone told me once there is an old wives’ tale that if you get water on your clothes while washing the dishes you will never get married this is my wedding song: sudsy water dries on the front of my shirt and somewhere the gossamer of my dress gathers dust maybe it has been worn now by a less reticent bride falling in was easy— summer love is not the tangle of passion that winter will bring it is slipping, shoulders deep into an unheated pool feeling your skin shrink back as the sun dries flecks of chalky chlorine onto it it is endless iced coffee waking up in a t-shirt that is not your own and smells faintly of sweat and sunshine freckled skin and blue eyes those first mornings of fall coincide with the first i love you the last will happen nearly four years later
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