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A man from the past
The moon had barely risen above the
Horizon as storm clouds began to gather
In the west. Distant thunder alarmed the
Still night air, and a sudden swirl of leaves
Gave notice of change.
There was something in the feel of her hand
That night, holding mine yet somehow seeking
To retract, had I said something, forgotten
Something? I didn't think I had, yet her fingers
Spoke of reproof. Her lips normally warm and
Yielding, were still and cold, colder, much colder,
Than I had ever kissed before, butterfly busy,
Anxious to get on and be gone.
I held her to me and knew then that I was not
The one. We stood in the moonlight each waiting
For the other to speak, knowing full well that when
Words did come they would cut like a knife, A knife
Forged in the heat of distant lightning that lit a tear
On her cheek.
Finally, words melted into whispers as I held her
For the last time, I blamed myself at first, how
Could I let this happen? Am I a lover or a fool and
With what weapon do I cudgel fate? But love I now
See has no time to linger, nor can it be ruled, so I
Stood aside, a man from the past, who loved her
Dearly, and always will.
© Joseph G Dawson