Storia d'Amore

What did it mean -
     the mid-summer kiss
     the hesitant touching of lips
     the catch of breath
     and then clinging to someone with your eyes?

`So much,'
     I sighed in blissful thought.
`So much,'
     he promised, holding me closer.

But I had asked too much
     of him and of love;
     it never meant a thing.

Early autumn came
he looked away, shrugging,
     `Of course, it meant something.'

Late spring, I shrugged myself,
still at a loss to understand,
     `Perhaps so...
for half the breath
of a mid-summer night.'

Arlene Ang

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