Love, literally

The first time I remember seeing you
Was when you fell off the scaffolding
And into the wet cement below.
You left quite an impression.

Later we met at Literary Sculpture class,
Where we would fashion the great writers
Out of wicker. Me: Joyce. You: Twain.
You really made your mark.

We only kissed once but I recall that
Fateful, blustery day as if it were yesterday
(Which it was, give or take a year or two).
I was blown away.

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