November 26 Poem

Some nights seem to live on,

like the night I held her hand

on that dark beach with the lights

at are back and the crashing waves

before us. We paused, sat down,

and buried our bare feet in the sand.

She leaned into me, her head

on my shoulder and whispered

things into my ear that I have

forgotten, but I remember that

summer night lone ago when a

brown-haired girl held

my hand and whispered sweet

things in my ear and the roaring

of the waves surrounded us.

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