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I Wrote You a Lovesong

I wrote you a lovesong
and I slipped it into my shoe.
The blue shoes;
the ones I wore to the dance tonight.
I put the shoes outside my bedroom door,
to be shining when I wake up.
When I wake up and think of you.

I wrote your note that you left
your handwriting is like little whips
curled long and supple
like musical notes spaced between the lines
like marching legions parading from side to side.
I loved the hand that could manipulate
a pen so serenely, so craftily.

I like to think that I could smell your palm
where it touched the page,
inevitably caressing where my fingers now touch.
I must have imagined it,
though, for not even the faintest trace of perfume
persists to remind me of your silken skin.

I wrote you a lovesong,
caressing your memory with soft rhymes and words.
I reached out to touch your cheek
with a subtle but catchy melody.

I felt the guitar strings with my fingertips.
Memories flooded from me
and hid in the sounds echoing from the box.
In my mind I danced with you,
lightly spilling all over the dance floor.
Faces and voices blurred into a single color
as we spun faster and faster.
Your feet narrowly missed mine
in a precision act
of mutual agreements
on rhyme and beat.
My cheek touched your neck
as we dipped in a samba
and whip-lashed in a tango.
Your hair swirled like a silken scarf caught in the wind,
spilling your scent in fiery flashes.

Oh, what a night we had!

It ended in a café,
sipping coffee that was too hot,
not saying feelings,
but sharing love
like the flowers share the sun and the earth.
Your cheeks were ablaze with color
and the creases of your smile
that frequented your lips
laughed with dimple-dips.

Oh, how I loved you as we sat there!
Oh, how I love you now!

I wrote you a lovesong,
because I danced with you tonight.
I took my shoes from the box I keep them in,
the same box in which I keep
the note you left me.
I took the drawing I made of you so long ago,
yellowed and faint,
and I caressed it.
I caressed it as I danced with your memory,
softly kissing your lips,
leaving a damp trace on the yellowed paper.

I conquered my old gravity and pain
by spinning around
in my wheelchair,
narrowly missing the furniture
in my room,
dancing as we had
so long ago.

I danced to your memory
and loved you as always.
I sang my new lovesong to you.
Perhaps tomorrow somebody
will take it out of my shoe,
the blue shoe,
in front of my door,
and sing it to the world.

And sing my love to you
for everyone to hear,
my dear departed wife.

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