love’s last press

silly dream … but it’s mine nonetheless wait … wait for it … I’ll wait for it now and ever to feel that press the press of sweet tenderness that melting mouth that met mine all those aching moonrises ago the first - a swollen-full blue of July so bright it drowned the stars … a muggy twilight of steamy mist and cricket song and a hazy dance of fireflies … to our waists in the pool my hands on you, hungry - starving for you, warm the taste of your tongue like marzipan speaking sexy wants into me - mumbled as moans that spun my mind like maelstroms into thoughts of pleasuring you only that … only you … only touch and taste and tangled flesh and the trepidation of perfect passion I was no more … for a time unmeasured and wild I was devoured by the compulsion to make you want me - to fill your mind and body with a need for only my giving a need so strong that you would thereafter ne’er think of another heart or mind or body but mine … a desire to replace all other desires - that was my quest and each moment we were together from then on it remained … days, weeks, months - we whirled like twin twisters crazy callow cyclones leaving worried wonder in our wake years we spent in a turbid tango of lovemaking and ado every possible moment was us and every possible us was dalliance, divine years of intense intimacy where each moment apart was consumed by thoughts of our next opportunity … and we took no prisoners - gave no quarter every other action was only the connective tissue - tying us to our carnal cares … but … sad is time and oh, the courses of life can be cruel for our compasses changed so slowly that we didn’t give them fair notice - by the time our altered paths had become clear, it was too late duty, fate and hope had found us inexorably bound for different worlds … and now … we are strangers - the soul I was closer to than any other in this life is now … apart not even an acquaintance … and that whisper - that hush that flamed my blood with but a word is gone from recollection … the taste of your lips and body that so often lingered on my tongue I have lost to time’s ilk … the fragrance of your flaxen tresses that swam my head like narcotic has left the mem’ry of my better senses, and the dark burnish of your gaze that reflected the moon off the water all those ages gone has drifted far beyond my sight and gone dim … but … I have the silly dream … still and I tend it like gold that somehow - oh, I know not the machinations but somehow, someday when I lay upon that shadowy doorstep when I recline in deference to the Boatman of Zion when my bones ache with age and my marrow grows chill when thought becomes simple and sore - somehow, some way, you’ll be there you will have remembered how dear and how precious our time together was, how incredibly rare the passion and joinings, how sacred the countless times we swam up each others’ rivers to that place, ever unnamed where we became singularity, and how extraordinarily priceless was our love … you will have recalled that incredible gift we once shared, and you will, without word or gesture, come quietly to my side, peer lovingly into my eyes with that shine of July’s sultry moon, and press my last breath with a long, deep, passionate other-worldly warm sugary-slow and so sadly sweet … kiss.