Reunion

Twenty-five years later,
the Deep South,
still hot, wet.
Some things haven’t changed.
Her eyes are possessed by that
wicked smile from high school
times twenty
years of experience
we shared without each other.

Three hours later,
a hundred handshakes,
hi how-are-ya’s.
Many things remain the same.
Our questions probe each other’s
past, touching then and now;
pulsating
Zydeco fills the voids
and flowing bubbly undresses lingering emotion.

Twelve midnight,
dance floor empty,
tables clearing.
One thing is still the same.
We’re afraid to touch
certain parts;
the heart
and one uncorked bottle stand between us.
One question remains unanswered.