I know we died but came back to life.
Forty years I missed her everywhere.
When I found her, she called me old love.
It was raining where she was, I never
remember myself, only the last time
she kept her clothes on we slept together.
My stay was over the day of the night
she called on the neighbor’s phone to see
if I was home. She came. I welcomed
her sailor’s walk, her beauty: almond eyes,
cheeks chiseled perfectly, how her talk
seemed to splice with a whisper words clear
as speech I could not separate from love.
I must have moved my empty hands over
her full breasts, cupping her soft buttocks
as we kissed, knowing our love would never
come again, we would have to settle now
for what the mind’s eye can remember:
running naked together through wheat fields
on film projected once but that was all.
(1 March 2013)
copyright 2013 by Floyce Alexander