WHAT WOULD WE.

BOY AND GIRL IN LOVE IN 1964.

What would we
wish different, Milka?
Youth we had,
plenty of

and wisdom lacked;
your beauty,
my wit;
the summer,

flowers,
butterflies,
bees and us
when we could,

being alone,
when your parents
were out or
out of sight

and your brothers
fishing or gaming;
we could kiss
and embrace

and do what lovers do
when nature
permits or allows.
The room,

yours, untidy
as girl's rooms can be,
was out sanctuary,
our bedding place,

lover's nest,
secret hole,
could tell secrets
if walls could talk

or ceilings tell tales.
We would do
nothing other, Milka,
than what we did,

except, maybe,
do it better
or sooner
or with more passion

if more was to be had.
That first walk,
the smell of flowers,
the air fresh,

the woods echoing
bird calls or song
and rabbits
on the run

or squirrels running
from tree to tree
and branch to branch,
and we there

innocent as lambs
knowing nothing then
of nature's bounty
or sex's depth,

but we walked and talked
and then by the fence
by the field
we saw sun's glow

and sky's blue
and I knew then
I loved us,
but more so you.