Twenty-five years ago, I was introduced to This is My Beloved, a book of poetry written by Walter Benton.  Originally published in 1943, my copy has accompanied me on every move.

This month, the entry dated August 9th resonates in my heart.

I will be forgetting you each day and every hour.

Each night and day, each hour something

wonderful and dear of you will ring my heart and knock upon my mind.

Each time I hear Gilbert and Sullivan — or Strauss, see gingko trees,

read Lewis Carroll: see flowering dogwood or smell

locust, acacia, sweet honeysuckle, lily of the valley, or wild roses.

I shall forever be forgetting the quick happy kisses, like samples —

when my own lips could never fully capture yours.

And the deep ravenous kisses when I awoke wanting you at night.
Sunday will be the hardest to forget, late Sunday mornings,

with your sleep-rich body . . .and your hardly opened eyes terribly tender.

I will never forget Dwight.