Breeze from beyond

glass, window ajar, blows

in scent of basil; so sweet, full

of memory of then:

when heat warmed skin, already golden

from long days ‘neath foreign sun;

when food tasted better, simply by

virtue of soil different, deliciously exotic.

Eyes close to see

pictures of then, ocular snapshots

developed by heart,

side by side

with him.

Rain

enters uninvited, dampening

mood and wetting skin – or

are those tears

rolling sadly

to her

chin?

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