Jan 2015
Once every few years she is around,
but she is still around. She is around enough nough to shine light on the constantly dying life that is my own. She is around every few years when the trees hold their supreme grace. Every few years, in the Summertime she is around. And every few years we meet, in the countryside blanketing the city. It's on a bench, we meet. A bench overlooking a crisp-yellow field of sunflowers, much inferior in beauty, to her radiant stare. She sits down beside me. The smell of her perfume overwhelms my senses, like a single wave in the ocean, greeting a lonely rock. Before any bit of music flows from her luscious, but naked lips, she presents a cigarette. The damp and silent air is filled with the subtle crackle of a match being lit. The flame, meeting the tip of the cigarette, now burning with complete compatibility. She exhales a perfect funnel, and we watch as the smoke disappears into the gentle breeze. She offers it to me, as I take a breath to decline, she entraps my vulnerable soul with her mesmerizing gaze. Michaelangelo himself could not have created a more perfect pair. Like two planets, holding all the beauty and mystery, in the universe. I remove it from her silky hands as she smiles. A small but powerful smile holding the very definition of perfection. "Hello." I feel helpless as the warm tone of her voice fills the air around me. My ears have not heard a more aesthetically pleasing sound since the last time we met. It is as though I am hearing the word for the first time. "Hello," I say back. We sit in silence for a while. Side by side, her leg gently pressed against mine. Not a word yet spoken, and I cannot be more satisfied. She eventually speaks. She tells stories of the years passed. The world, shrinking as I listen. Word after word as the sun begins to slowly retire. Hours pass and she falls asleep in my arms. Upon sunrise we will go our separate ways. But in this moment of time standing still, I rejoice.
but she is still around. She is around enough nough to shine light on the constantly dying life that is my own. She is around every few years when the trees hold their supreme grace. Every few years, in the Summertime she is around. And every few years we meet, in the countryside blanketing the city. It's on a bench, we meet. A bench overlooking a crisp-yellow field of sunflowers, much inferior in beauty, to her radiant stare. She sits down beside me. The smell of her perfume overwhelms my senses, like a single wave in the ocean, greeting a lonely rock. Before any bit of music flows from her luscious, but naked lips, she presents a cigarette. The damp and silent air is filled with the subtle crackle of a match being lit. The flame, meeting the tip of the cigarette, now burning with complete compatibility. She exhales a perfect funnel, and we watch as the smoke disappears into the gentle breeze. She offers it to me, as I take a breath to decline, she entraps my vulnerable soul with her mesmerizing gaze. Michaelangelo himself could not have created a more perfect pair. Like two planets, holding all the beauty and mystery, in the universe. I remove it from her silky hands as she smiles. A small but powerful smile holding the very definition of perfection. "Hello." I feel helpless as the warm tone of her voice fills the air around me. My ears have not heard a more aesthetically pleasing sound since the last time we met. It is as though I am hearing the word for the first time. "Hello," I say back. We sit in silence for a while. Side by side, her leg gently pressed against mine. Not a word yet spoken, and I cannot be more satisfied. She eventually speaks. She tells stories of the years passed. The world, shrinking as I listen. Word after word as the sun begins to slowly retire. Hours pass and she falls asleep in my arms. Upon sunrise we will go our separate ways. But in this moment of time standing still, I rejoice.
