12 & Girard (Petrarchan Poem)

Shadowy steps with fireworks in the sole of my shoes.
No older than Michael Jordan’s 2nd championship,
I stood knee deep in happiness.
Still remembering apollo and balcony views.

Her kisses felt like refuge.
Wet and soft like an ocean rested upon those lips.
The land was poor, but rich.
A manifestation of my Grandma’s hue’s.

Early morning escorts.
After nights, I will tell my children,
how love defines a resort.

I can still hear her laugh crippled from new ports.
When ever I ride pass, I’ll relive those days again,
So become my evermore fort.


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