Man on the Wall
When I see you in my dreams, is it real?
When my fingertips touch your lips and eyelashes?
When my lips brush your cheek, then your lips return the kiss only deeper, is that real?
When your flesh meets mine, your hands in my hair and all over my body, is that real?
The last time I saw you, you sat atop that stone fence,
Floppy hat with that fancy twist of gold
Slight smile
Sandy blonde hair
water eyes...moustache that was new...
Who is he?
That lean, muscled frame and those...hands.
Was the smile for me?
The two behind him were staring, too.
At me?
Did I dream you...again?
Naked under the waterfall, shallow pool, you turned and smiled at me.
God I love that smile so like my own.
So inviting to the touch.
A gentle hand rests now on my shoulder.
"Come home, dear, you have to prepare," the woman said.
I don't recall screaming after my hand touched your face.
After all, it was so cold.
And you...are not...cold...at...all.
And tonight, I pray for the dream
Where again your lips are warm
and your touch...a furnace.
God I have missed you.
Please come see me again.
One dream is worth more than a blink of you cold.
Lover
Beloved
Please come again.
I have grown so tired of the tears,
and I don't want to go cold inside like the others.
Note: This was inspired by a photograph from a collection of photos of soldiers who fought at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania during the Civil War. It was a young man, in his twenties, sitting on a stone fence posing with two other men from his unit. The young man wore a union hat with gold braids, but the remainder of his uniform was somewhat ragged. I pondered what his last happy memory had been, and then, what his lover would do once she found he was among the 51,000 killed during those three brutal days of July in 1863. The man reminded me of someone I admire Very Much.
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