FOND MEMORIES
by libera
Posted: Sunday, November 28, 2004 Word Count: 170 |
touched and felt the textures of his world;
On terraces I basked, on sofas I curled.
Music and incense filtered through rooms like noisy smoke.
Barely a word was heard; we hardly spoke.
Sunsets and dawns coloured my few days;
And rainbow shades merged with the moonlight haze.
I lived his photographs, his paintings - I tasted his wine;
His heavenly haven - so, so divine.
It took me to Europe, India, Bali;
Deepest darkest Africa - maybe even Mali.
But it was in Africa's most southern and sunniest Cape
I spent a pleasant time in blissful escape.
It reeled me in, I was totally drawn.
‘Oh, to live those moments again’, I mourn.
I was overcome with emotion, I became intense.
And a senseless bicker left me incensed.
I long to feel lifted and liberated again;
To be in his beautiful, Utopian Zen.
Oh! to inhale once more, those fragrant candles;
And smooth my hands across the mantles.
But it’s not obsession, it’s intoxication!
A chaste sensuality without fornication.
On terraces I basked, on sofas I curled.
Music and incense filtered through rooms like noisy smoke.
Barely a word was heard; we hardly spoke.
Sunsets and dawns coloured my few days;
And rainbow shades merged with the moonlight haze.
I lived his photographs, his paintings - I tasted his wine;
His heavenly haven - so, so divine.
It took me to Europe, India, Bali;
Deepest darkest Africa - maybe even Mali.
But it was in Africa's most southern and sunniest Cape
I spent a pleasant time in blissful escape.
It reeled me in, I was totally drawn.
‘Oh, to live those moments again’, I mourn.
I was overcome with emotion, I became intense.
And a senseless bicker left me incensed.
I long to feel lifted and liberated again;
To be in his beautiful, Utopian Zen.
Oh! to inhale once more, those fragrant candles;
And smooth my hands across the mantles.
But it’s not obsession, it’s intoxication!
A chaste sensuality without fornication.