How fond the thoughts of love when young,
Become as age creeps into creasing skin,
How easily does it become a whistful, fragile thing?
As eyes grow dimmer, cloudier each day,
How much more easily do we stray,
Back to a time of innocence?
Where hearts were pure,
And limbs weren’t weak.
How slowly do the thoughts then merge,
Down to a single sweet regret,
A place where planets burst in flames,
And suns grew dim in loves true name.
I remember my first love.
A man with hair like raven’s wings,
And eyes so deep, a chestnut brown,
That glowed with laughter in candlelight.
The softness of his hand in mine,
And lips that bowed and danced with life.
It was those lips that first kissed mine,
At midnight one December night.
Under the lamplight, in the snow,
We learned to hear the angels sing.
We stood there in the vortex snow,
Which whipped around us with the wind,
Suffused in orange street lamp light.
No other place would I have been,
And now that twenty years has passed,
I still can taste those coral lips,
And smell the fragrance of his skin.
But he is gone, he went away,
Melted like snowflakes in our hair.
A cancer marred his perfect frame,
Sending him home and there he died.
He will forever now just be,
A memory for an aging man,
Where he forever will be young,
While I grow old, and tired, and sleep.
I feel no sadness, don’t resent,
His leaving me to age alone,
But rather bless the heavens deep,
For hearing angels under stars.



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