Chlorine-Filled Memories

We would linger in the pool too long,
his legs purposely brushing mine,
our skin crinkly like the old people watching us.
"Stop", I would giggle as he tried to sneak a kiss,
his carefully shaved face would still give me a rash,
one that I would get grounded for when I got home.

It was there under fake sun, teal blue and concrete expanse,
we’d splash and play an entirely different aquatic adventure.
Like underwater flips, our hearts and souls would
suspend all sense of gravity, and spatial relations.
We were in love, the kind of love only a fifteen
and seventeen year old could understand.

Those games spilled over onto the hard floor
of the handicap bathroom, softened only by damp,
chlorine smelling towels and swimwear.
Through wet lashes our bashful eyes met,
his naked body an image I had only ever seen,
in my art history book. I especially liked his hands,
the way my fingers felt tracing them, as they gently lay at his side.

Our young love eventually escaped,
like the ripples that once left from our bodies in the pool.
But with recent news of his death, old feelings surface,
and tonight my eyes burn as these chlorine-filled memories,
run down my cheeks.