if and when
you remember
the june night
we touched
quietly by the pool
and hoped my mother
did not drift out
onto the porch –

       one of my father’s
       shirts hanging loose
       at her knees

– with each creak or rustle
our eyes widened
in fear
of being caught
so   close 

please know
that I have also
remembered
too many times
the lump in throat feeling
of an almost love

poem.