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by Pat Paulk
over smooth, thirsty stones, and
licked our ankles with a cold, forking tongue.
Our hands held
in spite of slips and falls,
you kissed my cheek when we reached flat sand.
The grass was soft
on the bank where we lay;
the sun washed bare skin,
while our clothes laid out to dry.
A hawk shrieked overhead,
you startled in my arms;
I nibbled at your ear, and
the high gliding predator moved on.