We stayed up all night watching shooting stars,
And for the life of me I can’t recall your names.
A story smoothed as wounds that leave no scars,
A perfect picture lost without a frame.
You might have been there, Amy, was it you?
At one point, Andrew, you were surely, there,
When at the end we sped down 42,
Right through the Pines to feel the ocean air.
The sky was pink and none had seen their bed,
(I just remembered Nathan drove the van.)
The Perseids still streaking overhead,
We reached the sunrise blessed by perfect plan.
But it was cold. I wore a sweater, yes.
Forgot the meteor names too, I guess.
You can listen to me read it here
https://on.soundcloud.com/x3jGcPjcqs57jcyejP
Today, if you hear his voice 
That is just gorgeous.
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Thanks for your encouragement theother day.
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You are very welcome!
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Your metaphors are great here… “A story smoothed as wounds that leave no scars,
A perfect picture lost without a frame.” Great writing. I’m curious, How did this piece of writing come to you? 🙂 My interests always lie in how people think.
Thank you!
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I was looking for meteors at dawn. I didn’t find meteors, but I found this poem.
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Wow. And that, in itself, was a good story.
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