Wild roses have gobbled up

the latticed arch in front of the hermitage.

It was there, against the stone wall,

that we made love that afternoon so long ago.

The rain dispersed the meadow's cool dampness

and your fingers reconjured it from my sex.

I could see a rainbow on a spider web

as you rammed and rammed

fighting my body against the void.

Later, we gracelessly lost each other in the path,

our bodies still dripping with the lukewarm sauce of heartbreak.

That precisely was one of our most definitive encounters,

our ripe flesh aware by then

we weren't made for each other.

© Miren Agur Meabe