Sweet lips

Memory jarred

thoughts wandering back,

back to a earlier time

when this old man

was within the

years termed as “teens”

when food was sharper

and streets wider

and lips...

ah, the sweet lips of

girls sweeter then

than could now be

in true life.

When mom was there

and chicken soup never

tasted better

nor rolled cabbage

sweeter and sourer

and the family

meals never as jovial

and the laughter

never harder...

And of course

memory of

the tears that

fell with the

break-up of

the one special

that I loved,

of the one this

old man still

thinks of  daily

and thinking now

how lucky

for this girl

that his old man loved

for now,

fifty-nine

years after,

now this girl,

this girl

of my memory

is still the girl

living within

the years,

within the years

termed as “teens.”

when sweet lips,

when the sweet lips

of this girl

this old man loved

in memory

were

sweeter then

than could be

now,

in true life.