Don't think, because we're ******* again,
I have forgotten the lies,
the tears
the gnashing and wailing
the avoided phone calls
and vague half truths.

Half a truth is all lie.

I have a penchant for sweetness
Sliding between tongue and gum
The cool kind
Not too intrusive
Carrying the fruit of some berry or another
Which slips toward me slowly
In celluloid dreams of my childhood
In sepia tints
Dotted  with the bright reds of summer fruit
Dripping down chin

With the faded blue of skies
Forgotten
In the clean slide of Kodachrome

The fading sepia
Fails to show the whiteness of my toddler hair
Or the shining black curls
Of my father’s head
As he holds me in his lap
And I turn adoring eyes in his direction
Smearing a bright red dot
On his snappy new shirt I suspect

The tint softens the memories
And sets them.
Love, a bloom
Of red promises.