How Can I Love You When You Are A Hundred Years Away

 

 

a bay horse on cobbled streets

 

in vieux carre’

 

breaks the silent wisps of steam

  

 

 waterlogged sheets

 

 soak

 

in a cowhide bucket, 

 

 waiting

 

 

 an  attempt  to mitigate heat

 

 

 i wrap my body cold

 

in the clinker-brick building

 

encased in bougainvillea

 

 and

 

a wrought iron veranda

 

 

 my fingers cradle an old tea cup

 

cracked,

 

 but filled with absinthe

 

 

 the smell of floral

 

hidden beneath weathered slate roof

 

holding heat,

 

 holds it

 

 eternal

 

 

cool of lisle melds with flesh

 

i loosen my wrap

 

and

 

look up

 

 

his eyes are blue,

 

they grow dark from shadowed hues of overhead slate

 

darker from want

 

 

they should be brown,

 

brown eyes

 

 

i look away,

 

turn back,

 

 suddenly immersed in pools

 

of still cave waters

 

 

he does not know;

 

he does not yet remember,

 

 and over a hundred years must pass before he does

 

 

my breathing quickens

 

 

he hands me a rose,

 

the rose has such beauty;

 

a red so rich and deep,

 

black,

 

unlike any i’ve seen


 

thick velvet petals brush my lips,

 

 timeworn kisses caress

 

movement,

 

unspoken words

 

 

 i do not like roses,

 

it is sunflowers i love.

 

 

 

cranky motors on cobbled streets

 

in vieux carre’

 

break the silent puffs of blue smoke

 

 

damp silk embraces my body

 

in the chalk-dust brick building

 

intertwined in trailing english ivy and

 

rusted wrought iron

 

 

my fingers wrap around tall sweated glass,

 

smooth,

 

filled with lemoned sweet tea

 

 

an overhead havana spins slow,

 

stirs citrus air,

 

teases

 

 

complex aromas of earthy,

 

 male musk rise,

 

fuse,

 

 stirring primeval memories

 

 

cool of silk molds to heated skin,

 

i peel away sodden threads,

 

expose glistened flesh,

 

and look up,

 

 

searching

 

 

his eyes are brown,

 

wide wading pools of sun-lit amber

 

growing narrow with need

 

 

they should be blue,

 

blue eyes

 

 

i look away, remember,

 

he is a hundred years away,

 

 

my heart shatters

 

 

he lays a sunflower on my lap,

 

the sunflower is aged,

 

its face dulled, brown,

 

 with

 

 spent petals

 

 

fingers curl,

 

withdraw,

 

reach for timeworn kisses

 

 

i do not like sunflowers,

 

it is roses i love.

 

 

 

What’s playn’ on my CD:  Nickelback , Far Away

I wore out my favorite: Mazzy Star, Flowers In December :-(

Finished: Thousand Splendid Suns, def a fan thumbs-up all the way!

Current Read: Gerald Jones, Ginny Good  and in case you stop by, Gerald: I’m loving it– and thanks for the audio too!

::smooch::