Les Neiges D’Antan
He may be dead,
The boy I met
In Central Park
Nearly fifty years ago.
We kissed at first sight.
He danced on Broadway.
We spent the night
Winding through the summer alleys,
Through dark, shadowy curving valleys,
Tracing errant paths inside the rambles.
We were more than half in love.
Life flared.
All the branches of our bodies
Were like trees.
Our eyes outshone the stars.
The floodtide of our breath,
Up from out the wellspring of our want,
Tore and fused our flesh,
Until without him
It was raw.
Desire was a torment and a prelude,
And again a torment after he was gone.
Alas, if only I were there again,
And he were in my arms.
How soft his caresses were.
My heart beat against his breast.
Like velvet or fur.
My eyes felt the longing his expressed.
I yielded and felt my body yield,
It was like a dream come to life
Lost inside his strong magnetic field.
I would have served him as his wife.
The city lingered below us in the street.
Enthralled by his fearsome hardness,
I kneeled to kiss his feet,
A slave to his caress.
The night was over and he went away.
What more is there to say?