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I was asleep and had suspended conscious thought
of you, who looms so lovely in my life,
the movie feature in all dreams is simply you,
a never-ending story of a distant love.
A love that had been doomed before its ever-flawed conception,
no fertile sparks could overcome the needful will of devils.
I well remember still vibrations of our pheromones,
the touch of skin so white and clammy, so alive.
And how we dove into the blues of wide-eyed pupils,
it was for nought my love, the fight could not be won.
And sound asleep I was when you wrote down new words for me,
they were composed of tiny fragments of old songs,
that we had sung together on that bony bench,
to be observed by only two or 3 white swans.
Two floating majesties, with interest in two humans,
who sat so close and tight, and unaware of grace.
Do you recall the time when we both looked away
and then returned our selfish gazes to the action?
When swans make love the lake becomes still waters,
and they ran deep for us that frosty night in May.
I do not know who was more pleased in these encounters,
perhaps we both deserved the gratitude of lovers.
We had it all of course, the innocence of youth,
the boldness of your shy, unnerving, roving hand.
The world around us had, in haste, and overnight
lost all the glamour of its colour, turning gray.
Yet we had friends that had been present from the start,
old yellow Moon and countless Stars and Balmy Breezes.
And in the daytime there were flowers, even fishes
and stainful grass, blackberry thorns and funny mushrooms.
There was one day when we did play Russian Roulette.
We were exuberant, akin to leaping spirits
and tasted whitish looking stems and soft umbrellas,
you dared me first and I, who was your only hero,
ate half a dozen, when you joined the deadly plot.
We drank the bottle you had stolen from their pantry,
it was so bubbly, then we sang 'Strawberry Wine'.
So, do you mind if I still wallow in the scenes,
so many years have not been able to erase
the smallest part of this whole treasury of ours.
As I can see now while I read your rounded vowels,
always in blue and duly dated and concluded
with just two words, not overly conventional,
they say
All Love
and then you scribble your sweet name.
Herbert Nehrlich
Read poems about / on: funny, hero, innocence, remember, together, moon, lost, love, memory, dream, fishing, flower, friend, water, running, star
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