Back Then
The steamy water made a mist as
it rose against the mirror.
Soon I couldn’t see her eyes…
but I knew they were there…
watching -
they were always watching back then.
Drops of sweat formed in my hair
as I felt the warmth of her kindness
envelope my senses.
The steamy hot bath closed in tight
against my bright red skin.
Love was clean back then,
fresh bathed and oiled.
Soft and supple like the petals of a rose
that’s stubbornly surrendered its tenderness
to the warm spring air
knowing when it does it must
start the drying -
the dying -
the knowing.
The rose was stubborn back then.
She used to look at my toes -
she did that when she was sexy…
me, I looked at the woman -
the woman made me sexy.
I am still sexy for the woman…
She looked at my toes back then -
she hasn’t been sexy for years -
perhaps my toes know why.
I do not.
Her eyes appeared
over the rim of my spectacles,
just to tell me it was over.
Over while I still lived
in the haunted house where two strangers
shared torn sheets spread
over a withered love
that was parched from the drought.
Ah, but once it rained,
it rained in torrents -
it rained in floods -
it bloomed back then.
Once there was a love so vivid and gay
that neighbors would complain;
too noisy for them they said,
but now even the neighbors know
the love is dead.
We danced -
I know we danced because
there is still a rhythm in my head -
it goes like this:
kick-a-do
kick-a-boom
kick-a-bang-bang-boom
it goes on forever
so I know we danced…
but that was back then
when she looked at my toes.
Copyright 1/4/02 Rusty Cline
