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
Copyright © Frederic Parker | Year Posted 2019
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