Love Letters About One Summer

Tracing the coffee stains on the love letters you sent to me.

Maybe I wouldn't have spilled anything if I had drunk tea.

Verses you wrote about that summer we spent in Italy;

the time in the vineyard and kissing prettily,

watching horses as they stormed across the beach,

strolls through art museums and begging to reach

out and hold a statue's hand,

pretending we were part of a Roman dreamland,

getting whisked off in chariots and dining with kings.

You wanted to know where I hid my angel wings.

We went around the country on trains;

you'd turn candy wrappers into origami cranes.

I'd look out the window and study all the towns;

it was bliss chasing after different playgrounds.