First Love

Let me take a break from this,
close my eyes,
and wander in the dark.

I sneak into the bedroom,
kiss her once on the forehead, softly,
twice on her bare shoulder so she will know.
When I wake,
the sun has kept its promise.
This is why I love.
Always a bridge over the river.
Always an apple pink afterglow reflects on tall glass.
Always a stream of brightness greens the dark Chicago River.

Michael H. Brownstein

Archived 02/12/2010