Under the Elms

When all our words have been spoken whether in conflict or love when we find ourselves under the Elms holding the wrinkled hand of time in comfort treasuring each breath as a precious flower scented with the memories of years will we remember each moon filled night when we embraced the ruffled hair of wanton dreams finding warmth as we searched for honeycomb tongues we found sweet and intoxicating when we wore the masks of lovers dappled by flickering candles, lost in rhythmic orgasms of saxophones mixed with roses and purple orchids dripping with the wine of paradise or will forgotten memories be our lot drifting away with old silent eyes in realms of shades that see only strangers and floating shadows trapped in a fog wandering through our minds a wish, that we'd be warm in our reflections as we sit under the Elms bound by the invisible sense of time holding silent memories like a golden jewel knowing our time is more passionate than our kiss as we treasure each final breath of our love 7/4/19 contest Love Poems for Her