Part One- May 9th
A figure dances before me,
A man inviting me to get close.
His bright eyes beckon me;
And his smile warms me.
The wind is blowing-
His hair, crazy, goes wild
Making this moment seem less intimidating.
The wind rushes the scent towards me.
The smell of liberation-
Reminding me of a playful wave
Splashing on the shore.
His arms are wrapped around me.
I feel safe in this embrace.
The sand sticks between my wet toes,
And I am comforted by this situation.
In this way I am drawn in;
And no one else knows.
It is a secret exchange of the hearts.
If not love, then high admiration.
And easy smile is formed by my lips.
I am pleased by all-
That has taken place here.
And at this time, all is well.
Part Two- May 15th
I am learning the steps to his dance.
Sometimes it seems to complicated,
But I am having so much fun.
The wind is blowing my hair around too,
Yet I never lose sight of him.
I always feel close-
Even if I can't touch him;
But some doubts have crept in:
Does he wish to dance,
Or is he being polite-
Teaching me this lesson
Because I demand it so?
These ideas vanish when in his presence
I am lost in his bright eyes.
Part Three- October 31st
We've been on this beach for some time.
From strangers, to friends, to lovers;
The sun has warmed us,
And the rain has forced us close to keep warm.
He did want to dance,
And our dance has evolved
With the different times-
Still fervent, forever fervent.
I still smell liberation,
Yet its scent is no longer young and naive.
I continue to find comfort in his embrace.
This exchange of hearts,
This high admiration which has deepened
To complete love
Still pleases me.
My smile of joy, in spite of the hard times,
Is genuine and forever.
Part Four- November 26th
He is silent and missing.
I am alone on this beach;
And now, it is almost always night.
Not even my lover in the sky
Shines on me in this bleak darkness.
I dance the steps in the sand,
The ones we, he and I, learned together
Leaving my lonely prints behind.
Remember the joy.
Remember the love.
I smile towards the void.
Oh, the liberation is still here.
The strain has made it old and tired.
And all I can do is remember-
Wrapping my arms around myself,
My half-hearted attempt
To grasp at some warming comfort.
The wind is cold.
Its knife-like cut is deep.
Fervent now describes my pain;
And forever, my yearning of him.