8/11/10

Long Distance
By Lindsey Renuard


She remembered the soft curve of his

neck and the way his muscles

moved beneath his skin, the feel of

goose bumps on his back after she

gently rubbed it with her fingernails.



She knew the feel of his lips

chapped by winter winds

and the weight of his body beside her.



She could recall in perfect clarity

their first meeting, and their first

cigarette, shivering just outside the

warmth of the house.



She remembered their last cigarette

together and their parting conversation,

the solemness in his brow, the hesitation

in his body to leave her,

knowing the time that would pass

before he would see her again.


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