There she is
on the hill, he recalls
her pale thighs in
that skirt he loved.
The one covered in blue and pink hearts
She picked a daisy, breathing in
Imagining lilies blooming
and the butterflies waving
waving around
The grass blades tickled
their necks pointing out
shapes in the clouds.
She always had had a better
imagination than him.
Her laugh sings in his ears.
He recalls,
now with tears in his voice.