Stupor
by Melissa Gammill
One late summer
My hand reached out
saying "I've missed you"
under the yellow moon of truth.
Your wine-tasting lips
greeted mine momentarily
as my heart exploded
fireworks
in the alcoholic stupor
of honesty.
And years since-
I've discovered
that those colors still bleed
under the same yellow moon
grown older
-that my lips are still stained
this permanent shade of loving
in the sober stupor
of grown-up dreams.
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