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When the Years Pile Up

When the Years Pile Up
By DiMack on 04/19/2017
Viewed: 75
Reviews: 4
Where should I rest these greying whiskers,
when the patchwork shadows of my face
fashion fruitless whispers in your ear?
Who will admire your smile or the lines teasing
your eyes when chillies release their temper?

Did you know, the catholic boy of my conscience
blushed when we dropped our student clothes
to bathe together? The bath didn't harbour teeth
and nobody rose with a birch brush to beat
the wicked suds from our skin.

We often kissed through the quiet nights and close days,
yet now, our love founders like an autumn leaf
on wet soil. When did I become your adversary?
The years of foxgloves, roe deer and twitching hares
pile up like a dream dying with summer's fuchsia baskets.

Should we head for Spain again and down a drop
of brandy, at midnight, in a sterile airport bar?
Do you recall how your Eau De Parfum spray troubled
the airline rep' when we asked if Gate 24 would guide
us to the right plane? Her sneer surprised the crew.

I'll hope you never forget the piquant flavour
of patatas bravas, the virgin oil of champinones
al ajillo or the scent of sepia ink, and I'll remember
the concern in your slate-blue eyes as they asked,
Where will you rest those greying whiskers.

? By DiMack On 4/19/2017 4:01:19 AM
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