Sounds of Us

Love Blossoms

I want to hang
on this rusted swing
and listen to
the squeaky lullaby
of the chains.

And the wind has
her own song,
a rustling tune
that whispers
through the trees.

A bird plunges
into the gurgling lake
like those nights
I stood beside you
rinsing mouthwash.

And then we kissed
through minty breaths
and fingers tangled
in wind-blown hair
guiding swinging hips.

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