Touch me with your mind.

Our perfect weekend rolled down a grass hill like a somersault
All splayed and pretzel shaped at the bottom
Out of breath and exhausted with laughter
Until there was no air left in our guts
It meandered down the sidewalk with hands held swinging
Easy words and lazy kisses without second thought
To surrounding eyes, when we spoke I could only see freckled irises
Our perfect weekend ended with side by side
Sprawling round pillows in a temperature challenged environment
Your words turned my metaphors to denotations
Illustrated connotations of all the best clichés
Our perfect weekend was our initials made of fireworks
Branded in the air with a sparkler until it faded to lavender vapor
Sunday smelled of summer and burned pasts
With a warm breeze pushing two towards tomorrows

What do I get?

It's weird for me to still care.  But we need these little parts, these seemingly random things.  We always need proof to remember that something has happened, like a pool of dust, a piece of string, or a hollow feeling where your heart used to be.  Anything to help us remember.  Anything to make sure we dont forget.