The fragrance of her perfume
Dancing in the air
From the night before
A late Eve
For this early Adam to grieve
The play of her memory
Falling like a feather
Through the pathways of my thoughts
Alighting like faery dust
Tickling me with its musk
The flow of her sensuality
Turning through my mind
Caressing my soul
Overriding my sanity
Playing to my vanity
The hope of her love
Just out of my reach
Touches only of friendship
Though gratefully accepted
Can never be expected
The recollection of her words
Harsh in the twilight
Not quite understood
But the meaning clear
You’re not for me
Dear.
© Charles Tolman
Reflections, Ramblings and Rumblings 