I remember sitting
on a lounge chair
in your backyard.
Idle conversation.
I watched every word I said,
in order not to embarrass myself.
It was early dusk
on a spring evening.
We talked until the sun
slipped behind the cornfields
surrounding your house,
and the distant mountains
were no longer visible.
I was reluctant to leave,
fearing you'd think me rude.
But you didn't.
And I was grateful,
for I wouldn't have known
what to say,
in my awkwardness.
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