Number 5: Memories.
My Dearest, you have not, as yet, replied.
Despite my initial resolution
Not to write unless in reply to you,
I find that I am, once again, possessed
By a longing which defies all reason.
Strangely, I am drawn back beyond our love,
Once so intense, to those more heady days
Of our pure adolescent love.
I sit, conscious of this summer heat,
Reflecting on what it is I may be
Grasping for; the faded sepia longing
Of our time of childlike simplicity
Or an act of deception in the face
Of our impending mortality.
I cannot know or tell, except that I
Am constantly besieged by those images
Of innocent times no longer faded.
I see you now on the day that we met.
You stood amongst the chaos of your schoolbooks
Your pens, pencils rolled across the platform,
Crushed by the wheels of the departing train.
School uniformed tormentors laughing, jeering.
Desperately clinging to your fragile
Dignity, you knelt, brushed away a tear,
And tried to gather your books together.
Tentatively, I knelt down beside you.
I don't remember exactly what I
Felt when you raised your liquid eyes to me,
But, looking back, it must have been ecstasy.
I shy, bumbling, handed some books to you
And left with my awkward fifteen year gait.
But I can still feel your slight touch upon
My shoulder, your brightly smiling thank you.
Now, my mortified blush returns again
As I sit overwhelmed by these memories
Of that moment of blissful innocence.
Daily, coy, lingering by the subway
We talked of Cliff Richard, Buddy Holly,
The mysteries of maths and poetry.
We never touched, but surely no-one ever
Loved with as much intensity as we
Did throughout that drizzly Cape Town winter.
I remember the day when we simply loved.
Carefree, careless, enchanted with ourselves.
Your fingers entwined in mine, we walked, talked
Incessantly, stopping only to splash
In the last clear shallows of our summer.
As the tide ebbed and flowed across the sands
Of our naive, innocent youthfulness,
We sat in the dark and tentatively
Kissed as the full moon shimmered golden
Onto the rippling, glistening sea.
Shyly you put my hand onto your breast
And I felt your nipple rise to my touch
As my just emerging manhood rose to yours.
Embarrassed by unanticipated
Desire, we quickly headed home, apart.
In silence, hands not touching, pocketed.
Space between us growing unwittingly.
Reaching the light outside your summer house,
You pecked my burning cheek, promised to write
Rushed inside, part of my life forever.
I must leave this now and attempt to drag
Myself back to some form of reality.
As I have no other English address,
I will send this letter care of your aunt,
Hoping it may find its way to you.
Please write, I need to know you think of me
Still, if just fleetingly from time to time. |
Number 6:
Enticement
Of course you remembered
the crowd, the laughter at my expense
my hot shamed tears unable to hide
the inevitability of our confederation
Chivalry still exists
you showed me that day,
as you slew my tormentors
with a single look past the cacophony
of mob rule and juvenile amusement
How well I recall that glance,
seeing beyond everything, and you,
capturing my gaze in return,
as we forged a bond more impregnable than time
Yes, we loved, but
loved as children, too young
to comprehend the electricity between us,
the world dissolving into mere wavelets against
the pier, too ignorant to see the real and the
ideal
Our lives diverged; thrown together again,
I question our bourgeois security,
so carefully constructed of mortar and stone.
Let us return to the half-concealed berth,
as we touch once more, unencumbered by shame.
Expert at sex -- but virgin to love,
I long for the sanctity of your caress
You, my stalwart champion, still
defend my sullied honour.
I am redeemed by your virtue,
our covenant purified,
deliverance by association |
