Memories of Firsts

I closed my eyes
and sung along to the lyrics I knew
tapping bare toes
on a scratchy green comfortor
three hours away from home,
admiring the way the curls fell
and danced on your shoulders,
wishing I could be that cradled guitar
as your voice caressed the air.

Later we sit together indian-style,
your fingers brushing my cheek
as we laugh at bad cartoons
and reminisce.
Come time to leave, hands meet and
eyes search and linger,
flickering up once more
before you lean in
and stop time.