Fireflies

It’s only mid May but it’s hot and humid
and soon the fireflies will flash about
the old knee-high ferns and dense hostas
growing untamed beneath the sturdy ash trees
out front. Soon, we’ll be sitting on the stoop with
mosquitos zzzzz’n past our ears and cold sweat
dripping down a pair of cocktail glasses
filled with Beefeater and lemonade
forming two cool puddles on the warm cement.
Maybe, for old times sake, we’ll stain the
mossy, stale air with the rich clinging aroma of 
a shared cigarette. And, when the winking flash
of those fireflies catches my eye,
I’ll know our secrets are safe.
Beneath the bellowing rumble of semis
on the expressway and the chatter of crickets,
the streetlight will cast a gentle glow on your
perfect cheeks, and your determined eyes will
twinkle mysteriously, accenting your easy smile,
and I’ll thrive in your affirming laugh while
we talk softly...
'Let's ignore our curfew, the babies are asleep,

let's celebrate the moment’s pureness,

defy time, hold hands like teenagers

and kiss.'
I can’t wait to taste your soft lemonade lips.
You will impress me and I will marvel
that you brought us two angels who snore in
heavy sighs and laugh in such fits of tickled
ecstatic joy that I am thankful they will
never remember the day they were born or
the three months after that, or most of 1998.
We will forever tote their infancy as a chest of
frightening and fond memories, so many stories
to share with them - summers worth of conversation 
on the front stoop. And, when the winking flash
of those fireflies catches my eye,
Our stories will be told.