Where...The Trees

A lone stand of pines keeps watch
beyond those citrus groves where
we played, where orange trees
produced their edible art, where
sweetness danced on questing lips,
and anticipation dribbled down our chins.

I remember you, pine-cone grenade in hand,
unbridled mirth spilling from your mouth,
past delicious orange-flavored lips...
When - *THWACK* - a hard green missile
found its mark on my cheek, where only
moments earlier your hand gently brushed
wayward hair from my face, and I felt
your breath, warm and wanton, on my skin.

All was fair in love and war:
Might in battle gave way to
impassioned testaments of forever.
Beneath glitters of falling stars,
loyal friendship melted into dawn,
then into scars that burn so sweetly.
Like ravaged driftwood setting sail
from twilight's quickly cooling sands,
those moments floated off beyond our grasp.

Now following the sun's daily reign,
a vague semblance of peace settles in.
Like some grayed carousel, shadows descend.
The lone stand of pines keeps watch,
sentinels untouched by time.
The trees know...
yet silent they'll remain.