Five days after the barbecue,
I could still smell the hickory smoke on my jacket,
dark and heavy.

Three weeks after the ski trip,
I feel the waves under my feet,
cool water rushing under me on either side.

Two months after the concert,
the last few notes on the piano stayed with me,
tender sounds that floated above the cellphone lights.

A single year since that first kiss,
molasses sweet and just as slow,
drawn out, savored.

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