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Jan 2010
How casual he sounded,
The son who told me.
Her death, years ago,
Was to him as old
As news to me.
She was mother to he
But came lover to me
And there on the street
As strangers just passing,
The glimmers of past
Stoked my memory
But I couldn't remember his name
'Till we parted.
Searching his face,
Now a man's same as me,
For signs of some hatred
Or blame -
There was none,
Still smiles were awkward
And relieved, I walked on.
Was it his grace
Or mature understanding
That I, too, was a boy,
When she took me abed,
Still chasing young butterflies
And playing with toys,
Never paying a thought to
Replacing his father.
Lust kept secret for seasons
Before reason came bother
Lost in our thighs,
Or her ancient demons,
But a family shattered.
And I, only prize,
'Came ***** to new friends
Like a cheap bottle of wine
To pass among lips,
Psyche eroding with each of their sips.
With naive trust battered,
The sweet fever broke.
I awoke,
Summer already over.
So bittersweet, this sentiment
My sin with forgotten lover,
A son who lost his mother.
Robert Zanfad
Written by
Robert Zanfad
565
     D Conors
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