When the Heart Decides

The Email

Meet me for a drink,
he writes,
there is time to spend freely
this starlit night under a Flower Moon,
it's been too long since we last spoke
there are things to say
too long unspoken.

The span of time matters not  

to lovers  who once kissed—
         under the spray of the sea beneath the crimson sky
in the hushed silence when sun meets sea—

two unlikely souls, unveiled
the flash, in your eyes
my desire, clear

perplexing it seems,
in spite of the number of years,
incredible it appears,

this passion
    you inspire
        continues
            to slide
                over my skin
                     smoothly
                        as sizzling wax    flows over the lip of a taper.

my days filled,
full without you,
dreams haunt me
from midnight to dawn
the void  
not definable,
nor unbearable,
only
unforgettable

sends me a'calling under this
Spring moon.  

Pick up, pick up, I plead,
it’s only a drink, a toast we will share
in celebration
of life, which
gives and takes freely,
let us celebrate
our enduring passion
ablaze beneath our polished exteriors.

There was silence,
between then and now
the memories once blurred
now dance beneath bright lights
in the dark behind my eyes
beckoning me
from my deepest sleep
calling me back
to my viaduct of dreams
where I stand

alone

watching the past, the moments we shared,

the first

to the last.  

You never see it coming
'till it's gone
the kiss of the lover
that steals your soul
and leaves a shadow
on the left side of your heart
lyrics heard in a dream you never wrote

My heart, serene
my head adrift
in the unpacking
of moments I buried
and shut away
after our good-byes

through the crack
I see
the door
of Room 619
your back to me
rigid
walking away
slipping out of sight
our final farewell

tomorrows came after

and another

another

until they were measured by seasons

no word came
no  liaison sought
imagining you
were imagining me
overlooking the why of our ending
until the reason for leaving
no longer recalled
and tears
no longer descended

tomorrows came

and another

another

until now.

His voice,
more a calling than a choice

Come to me, come to me.
Now.

to answer his plea
to go him
is where I want to be.

Knowing the risks
a voice in my head
muffled and faint
urges my feet
        to walk whence they came,

to be firm on the ground
leave the vapor of passion
that clouds my reason,
and promises a refreshed life.

The walk into his arms,
to answer his plea
to go to him now
is where I want to be.

Each memory once wrapped
delicately in layers of pink tissue paper,
then stored,
now savagely exposed,
dropped in haste
clothes strewn at our feet
our renewed passion
spent
on the sheets
of the rented bed in
room  619.
 

Do you or don't you follow your heart?  Of course, we always do the right thing, but what if we don't?  My protagonist is struggling with this same choice and since her hired gun (me) is wavering, she asked me to ask you, what would you do, go to your lost lover or walk away?

Tagged as: brokenhearted, falling in love, fickel heart, lost love, Lovers, passions, poetry