My Elvis hair

You ran your fingers through my Elvis hair,

slicked back and duck-tailed

as we mouthed “Love me Tender” between kisses

in the wet grass of that last night

before they cut it all off at Fort Dix

and it fell to the floor piled with the all the rest,

the last piece of our youth swept up,

sheared and bagged, tossed away,

lined us up, all the same, skin-headed, pimply boys

armed with man dreams stuffed with glory

before they dropped us in the jungle

where the stubble grew sweat

and the night hardened us to terror

and we stumbled and battled

to stay alive, to save our brothers,

fought to stop the screams of war 

from filling my head,

to keep that piece of you locked safe,

the scent of your skin, the taste of your mouth,

the tickle of your voice in my ear,

the wrinkle of your nose,

blue eyes that burned your love through me,

fought to come back

and know that roses are red

and not frosted-killed brown,

that you would finger curl my hair

before your tongue plunged into my ear,

and your mouth devoured me

and we locked together rolled and writhed

and let the world share in our screaming secret,

that memories were once real

not faint wishes

where in my sleep we are still arms locked and bodies pressed,

and that instead of good-bye

I had whispered I love you to your open heart.

About michaelstephendaigle

I have been writing most of my life. I have written at least three complete novels, have three others started and on my website michaelstephendaigle.com is the draft chapter of the latest effort,"The Swamps of Jersey."
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