Twenty-One.

With an ounce of
temptation trapped
in the third to last kiss,
I saw a future cast
before my eyes of white
lace and black candlesticks,
walking down a strip to a
sunset morrow whispering
away the final days of
summer, laughing until
the stars could no longer
illuminate the sky, when I
was your bride and
everything else was lost in
the hobble of vows and words,
holding on until the second
to last brush of lips when
temptation had dissipated
with the heat of the rising sun;
those are the moments
trapped in ounces of memories
never to become undone.

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