Three words return from the dead,
resurrected if only in your head,
rolling off her tongue, but you want to hide it.
Last Christmas, we’d buried the hatchet;
cremated the emotion tangled in theatrics.
But summer’s wearing its welcome thin,
and I guess this was on her wishlist.
Is it the wine,
or have we lost track of time?
I love you is on her tongue,
and the sincerity trickles in her tears.
I love you is on my mind.
The sincerity warms my skin,
forcing us to strip nude.
Let’s do something we’ll never regret.

(© 2022 AC)