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In Watermelon Season

Remembrance of odors that filled me
with elation and sorrow.

A tempting, taunting whiff
of gardenias
on the breeze.

Tuneful, memorable songs
of youth and optimistic
that follow and
fill you with sad exuberance
and regret.

Lying beside her,
one night in watermelon season,
on grassy tufts of summer,
we joined together once,
and never again.

Reality butting its rapacious
was voracious
in its passionate urging to forget.

To forget,
and live life as one must.
As one was told.
As the stultifying simplicity of reason
and rational sensibility

forever, from then on.

One night,
and it lived on in memory,
in the mind of 
a man of foolish, sinful acceptance.

A sin, 
a true sin against truth,
against fate,

A sin,
to leave her there,
with no recourse,
for my path was paved by
emptiness and dire predictions.

A dour life not lived.

Not lived, for she was not there.

Not there. Never more was she there.

And the judgement was 
and unhappiness reigned.

It filled my life,
my lifeless life,
without her.

The words are echoing in my mind.

What could have been, 
and what was not.

She passed over today,
still alone,
still her own proud,
tempestuous self.

Deliciously complete in her soul.

The loss is not mine, 
no not mine.

For I gave up all claims, long and long and long ago.

Long ago,
on a night in watermelon season,
on the grassy tufts of summer.

Gone. She is gone.
She is gone.

And soon I will join her
in watermelon season,
on grassy tufts of temptation,
and joy.

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