Hot pokers fell into my well.
It's been so many moons.
She took my blood,
and analysed it all.
Those were the days,
she had the expertise,
the looks and when she said,
let's walk, we missed the frigging bus,
and walk we did, as underfoot
a thousand maple leaves,
discarded and alone,
sang out in agony of sorts,
we paid no heed, but did
for decades yet to come,
store all the music of that day
away, so sweetly far, and even further
One cannot speak of these events,
we shall not know,
what human spirits can,
in memory recall,
but in a moment when the angels sing their song
my heart could falter and will ultimately fall.
I have been raised in a cold climate of despair.
Where only science and its disciples survive.
There cannot be a smudge of love for us to share
but will you kiss me, please to keep it all alive?