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December 4



December 4
By timtagel on 12/14/2010
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Twenty years of crossing paths
Yet never coming close,
Came to an end last night.
Stepping out onto a cold December street,
In a city of our choosing,
At a time marked so long in the diary of our hearts.
That night, two currents touched and ignited,
Creating an arc of love no-one could break,
For a few stolen hours at least.

''Where would I catch sight of you'', I thought,
Stepping off my bus into a crowded street.
Where strangers push past and care not for our love –
A perfect lair for our delicious secret.
Safe from the glare of another life and delicate hearts,
Who cannot imagine we could ever love another.

All that must be forgotten for now at least,
As pulses race and palms tingle.
Where will the meeting begin?
On which patch of paving stone
Will our paths finally meet?

...And there you are.
Such a relief!
Smiling, self conscious, excited,
Your face now before me like a glorious sunrise.
Those expressions coming to life in warm familiarity.
You haven''t changed,
And I am with you again.

We embrace, and clumsy kisses don''t matter this time.
''This is happiness and you are wonderful'', I think, as we walk hand in hand.
I cannot resist touching you, and my eyes dare not look away all night,
For fear of losing you again in the darkness of my life.
Touching you is all that matters now.
Just knowing you are real.
And my thirst cannot be quenched in these short moments,
Knowing then as I did, that I had fallen in love and needed you.

We take refuge nearby in a pub I had found
Weeks ago when we agreed to meet again.
A discrete backwater where only strangers'' eyes
Would fall upon our precious secret union.
Our famous spark still there.
Seldom our touch broke as hands caressed
Across an old wooden table.
And our eyes spoke of love in a silent exchange
That only old couples understand.

So little time together, so long we have waited.
So desperate to stop the clock and preserve this evening.
Those touches of your delicate fingers on my hands and arms,
And mine on your soft porcelain skin, each freckle burned on my memory.
Each glance becoming more intense as wine and words
Smooth the way to the evening''s final act,
When we melt onto the street,
Hands locked, hearts counting these final moments.

No more sand left in our secret hourglass.
Nerves are replaced by passionate embrace.
Nothing, not even a beer-stained table can stand between us now.
I am not letting go.
I know there is no time, so I trace your body with my hands –
Mapping this moment so that I may return in heart-broken hours,
And walk upon your golden shores once more.
When I will know what it is like to be with you again.






© By timtagel On 12/14/2010 4:05:35 PM
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