Walkin on Air

Winding Paths

Would I engage strolls down memory lane
in the autumn of my being,
where leaves and tufts of grassy mane
weave soothing antidotes freeing
pent up passions pertaining to love,
once shipwrecked on shoals of desire?
Star-bursting spasms that nearly drove
me insane, lust flaying entire
episodes of sordid fantasy
by the dim bulbs of the walkway lights
are tamed into a mute soliloquy
lamenting enticingly  the nights
turned into many days of anguish
only consummation could relieve;
now nearly forgotten as I trudge
along wet tarmacadam paths
whence vivid reflections languish,
in the encroaching dawn I retrieve
in vain but few scraps that cannot budge
the loss of meaningful aftermaths:
who was she?
Why did she simply leave?

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Winding Paths

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