Stuart Watkins
A lemon slice plucked from your tree
floats on the top of my ice water
supported by cubes underneath
as my lips draw in a sip
of tangy water
thinking of you
Random thoughts
come and go with no direction
some have a bitter-sweet tang
some dance on butterfly wings
some start, fade, and reappear
each with the flavor of you
Dancing, oh how I remember dancing
sparkling eyes filled with laughter
joyfully gleefully owning the music
ice cubes melted leaving a slice
of lemon plucked from your tree
at the bottom