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Your smile
by David N. Muxo
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Your smile reminds me of a party from the secret corners of my youth. How awkward I must have been, and looked. How silly in a shirt too big (at least the collar was), my tie too long, though I had practiced in the mirror that whole afternoon. Of course my loafers sqeaked. My socks were white, my hair slicked back (the wethead hadn't died as yet, you understand), my fly unzipped (Melissa liked to see me squirm, and always found a way to tell me all the things my best friend would not tell). But I knew my mortal coil had shuffled off when Cynthia Smythe Hyphen Jones (be still my heart!) refused to dance with me. I sank into despair. Then, suddenly, there you were (your smile, you understand, not you) across the room. A smile like yours and I was Alan Ladd or Robin Hood, the frog transformed. Adventure waited while I held my breath. The rest is history. |