Crimped Memory
As eventide drew its curtains
around us,
there was nothing tame about it
when I went into
the woods with him,
for even though the moon beamed
pearlescent in its inky sky,
the wind was howling through the trees.
And though the weather -
for the bluster of the wind -
was inclement,
I could not deny my growing ardor.
As if in tune with the wind,
we pressed ourselves
like feral creatues of the shadows
against each other.
We fell beneath an oak
whose constant rustle of leaves
became a metronome that measured
our two hearts’ steady thrum.
Stronger and then stronger still,
the oak’s leaves fluttered
as I rolled with him in ecstacy
on the forest’s floor.
It was as if he had the ability
to plumb the very depths of my desire.
I look back on that night remembering
the every passionately delicious detail
and how even the next day,
the tang of his lips on mine
remained.
Decades later, I reminisce about
– like the worn pages
of an intensely romantic journal entry
that have many times been
unfolded and then refolded -
the memory of that night
which he crimped within my mind.
April 4, 2021
for John Hamilton's
Eight Word Bardenesque Challenge Poetry Contest
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