Of Hummingbirds and Sunday Supper

She wore freesia from the body Shop.
That combination of sweet and spicy
Like her and the flowers on the vine

I wore New West Skin Sent
Citrus, Sage and Sandalwood
With a hint of fresh cut grass.

And if I had smoked a clove
Linger just a little longer
She would hold me closer when we hugged
Whisper that I smelled like Sunday supper

We took shelter in the back of her truck
Storm clouds beginning to darken the sky
The sun setting over the lake,
And the first drops of rain
Causing the wood from our fire to pop and hiss

When she kissed me…
She slipped her tongue between my teeth
With a confidence that was lacking in me
The weight of her desire crushing me

The last loons of summer
Calling out across the lake
A back-up symphony
To the hummingbirds battering themselves to death
With-in the confines of my chest

In the last remnants of the fading light
With the rain now pounding incessantly
I recklessly offered her Mexico
Her eyes drifted to our hands entwined
A wedding band on hers
An engagement ring on mine
The hummingbirds faltered

With the time chasing seasons and the leaves from the trees
She would leave me
She would leave me grown cold
Brought low by this sickness
And the void in my soul

When the years had mapped our history
In the lines upon our faces
On the shores of the lake
I would give her away
To husband number two

Moments before…
She had pulled me close
And I had whispered…
“Mexico…it’s not too late”
She laughed…Breathed deep…
“You always smell like Sunday super to me…
But I am never coming home.”
The wedding march played
The hummingbirds died