Caught on the evening breezes;
my hair, our clothes, your kisses,
jasmine whispers curl in the aire
as I settle an old scarf about us.
It is the same scarf you lent me
all those years ago, on that spring evening in May, at that busy street cafe in Cádiz. The tapas flowed in time with los canciones gitanos.-
My shoulders were bare,
caressed by pale moonlight. I was
drunk on your Sangría smile, and your lips sent shivers deep, stoking
the wild fire already branding
my heart as yours.
Always my dark and silent gentleman, you unwound your scarf from about your long neck, tenderly slipping it round my shoulders.
This moment began my wandering days within your warm embrace.
Some things have changed
our time, the year, this place.
Yet, as I kick away my sandals, and I
wrap my arms around your waist,
silvered moonlight reflects upon us.
You remain quiet and reserved in your deep and observant ways, but
as I lean in to kiss you, a’sway…
I can still feel loves spark dancing within your heart to the sound of a gypsy mandolin.