Memory
We made love all day, our loud
and insistent lives scratching at the door.
Saturday? Sunday? The only thing worth worshiping
was the mole behind your knee.
We made love all day and the next.
Clouds gathered, rained, and moved along.
Trees shed their cover, froze,
came back again green. We thumbed our noses
at time, and every mirror revealed us as dawn flowers,
wide-eyed and damp.
We made love all day,
knowing our lives must
break down the door one day
loud and insistent
and pull us apart.
Dudley Stone’s poetry is Pushcart Prize-nominated and has recently appeared in Neologism Poetry Journal, Written Tales, and The Headlight Review. He has a B.A. in Theatre from the University of Kentucky, studied playwriting at the University of Massachusetts in Amherst, and is a proud member of the Dramatists Guild and the Kentucky State Poetry Society. Mr. Stone lives in Lexington, KY. More of his work can be found at dudleystone.com.