I sometimes miss those kisses on the Rhine,
The Europe trips, our sips of corkless wine,
And penny-flips, with which you’d slap your wrist,
Hand over fist, and say “guess which it is!”
I miss those laughs you used to gasp, the croaks
I used to call them, giggles caught in chokes;
You’d flash your teeth, though not quite perfect white,
All mostly straight, save that one to the right.
I miss those nights we’d share, the sights we’d see,
But never you, yourself, dear Charity:
It seems sometime while lost on memory lane,
You slipped away, were never seen again,
But you were present there much more, before,
When reminiscent missing still felt sore,
And present-me would drag behind the past
To ask what part about it couldn’t last,
Though not so now; it’s turned periphery,
Like so much else I’ve lost to memory.
I sometimes wonder if you think of me
Those times I almost think of you.
~Michael Danger Caskey