The photo slipped from the pages
of a dog-eared novel,
landing at my feet,
and his young face smiled up at me,
russet hair curling behind his ear.
I remember the softness of that curl
wrapped around my fingers
as we kissed goodbye.

My heart quickened
in remembrance of passion shared,
simple, innocent, unencumbered
by mortgages, credit card bills
and parent-teacher meetings.
On my knees I looked into eyes,
deep and brown, still familiar,
and a smile that hinted at
the devil-may-care attitude
he had towards life.

Broad shoulders
that once cushioned my head
against the world
as we danced in slow motion
to music only we could hear.
Arms that held me,
hands that caressed me,
with the intensity of first love.
Captured for this moment
of reflection,
a colored bit of nostalgia,
that pulls at my heart
nearly three decades later,
not only for the boy
but for the girl I used to be.