Scents of Summer

I asked, quite simply,
That I should have that chance.
You were unexpected.
Betrayal, almost, in your smile,
And I remembered
Those tangerine afternoons,
Racquets arcing in lazy arabesques
And only the puff pant puffing
Of serve, volley, backhand.

I had nothing to hide.
But treacly fear crept in,
Black hearts, blacker deeds,
Worried about subtlety.
No need. Crying is for now,
I found it in the slow oozing of time.
Watch, a Salvador Dali impossibility,
And nothing matters.

Swallowed by day haze, sun,
Your skin is delicate, milky white
And does not tan.
Lozenge shaped in motion,
Ball flew between thwack of racquets.
Contentment is a cruel word.
I mistook something else for love,
And I remembered
When one of us came back
And nowhere was all we wanted.