And so I stand here once again –
this place where Angels came to rest their weary heads.
Sliced from their journey, transmuted, here,
between Earth’s comforting folds of green.

Among the wavering grasses,
lost to all worlds but ours, we lay here side by side.
Youth adorned by wild flowers -
watching clouds take on daydreams through wavering stems.
Golds and Blues of Buttercup and Cornflower,
feathered green grassy stalks towering above.
Hand in hand,
fingers entwined,
hearts forever twisted out of shape,
lips forever tainted with ruby lust,
minds forever etched by young love.
The song of the Skylark tinkled.
The warm breeze brought the scent of you.
The softness of your breasts a memory;
the smooth pathway of desire;
the giddy inflation of delight.
The sweet perfection gained by greedy toil -
celebrated,
breathless,
elated,
and then... is lost... again.

It is a place we both know,
that will never leave my heart -
not even when, as surely time will allow -
it is covered with red brick boxes,
or mangled iron pathways to nowhere,
or more concrete,
more meaningless adulterations to real beauty;
to what we had, have, shared.

And I remember,
as in a dream,
I once watched you slowly wind a pathway up this leaden slope,
with tears flowing freely,
not understanding your loss,
your hands frozen white, your love torn away by death.
A future fear then growing inside you.
You were behind the processing passage
that carried me on a bier.
My body swaying, involuntarily,
side to side,
in unison with the step of the pall bearers.
Beneath a pall of printed cretonne I lay -
and on top,
bright printed flowers on a dark day -
white chrysanthemums lay ...
and I lay ...
so far away from you.

For we had known there, the scent of rosewood,
and pachouli,
saffron,
and spices,
camphor...
and had seen around the flames - through the pyres hazy heat -
their faces, chanting, mourning,
but never sad to see me go.
I so badly wanted to be with you;
be inside your hair,
inside your gentle folds...
feel your breath touch my skin,
your hands touch my cheek...
to be ecstatically 'at home'.

But then I was sad here:
Alone.
While you chose to flee and fly free from my suffocation;
lost to my burning desire.
You, brilliantly alive with youth and having expectation of new love,
of rekindled fires ...
but elsewhere... away from me.

So the cycle nears its end?
Once more round the wheel we go?
This time, all I need to do, is turn,
retrace my steps;
fall into the waiting arms of Aphrodite;
and be lost ... again.

But what of tomorrow?



© 2022 Griffonner