Share   Print  Save   Become a Fan

Ô temps suspends ton vol…
Le Lac, (Harmonies poétiques et religieuses)
LAMARTINE (1790-1869)

The Kiss
Ô temps suspends ton vol…
Le Lac, (Harmonies poétiques et religieuses)
LAMARTINE (1790-1869)

Once upon an aimless afternoon, bicycling through the Park,
I happened upon a small tribe of long-haired, local hippies.
They were simply "hanging out", tossing a Frisbee around,
In the midst of a few young squaws idling on the grass.

Taking the weak pretense of an errant disc,
I invited myself into their improvised game.
Being somewhat initiated to the art,
I quickly became part of their dervish dance.

Fascinated by the flying saucer's capricious flights,
Always seeking the lucky ascendant current
Able, at times, to suspend it playfully in the air,
Imitating Gandalf's prodigious smoke rings.

Sprinting, leaping or plunging after the whirling disc,
The spontaneous outdoor exhibition
Exulted my young, athletic appetite
Gratifying a wild, excessive ego
Still immaturely prone to Narcissism.

Eventually, our random group of bearded, self proclaimed anarchists
Weary of playing, pursuing another futile pastime,
Settled down in the grass, exchanged a last communal joint,
Then, gradually, dispersed into the evening…

One of the girls lingered behind intriguingly.
Her appealing face was not unfamiliar to me,
Having crossed her, once or twice, on the campus.
(Or, might it have been her sister…?)
Beguiled, I followed her through familiar, old downtown streets.

Pushing the door of an ancient, red brick townhouse,
She led me up several flights of sonorous wooden stairs,
To penetrate into the mysterious, feminine intimacy
Of her neat, austere, one-room flat…

Due to the natural simplicity of the somewhat Bohemian décor,
We sat cross-legged on the bare wooden floor,
Sharing our tales and slim, narcotic cigarettes,
Deftly produced by long, delicate fingers,
Achieved in a final touch of her agile tongue ;

Meticulously, from dry, crumbled leaves of marijuana
Quaintly dissimulated in a salvage tea box
Which she kept naïvely on a shelf in the kitchen,
(Rather, that small corner of the room dedicated to culinary purposes).

We talked for what might have been hours
Until, mere words became confusingly superfluous,
Giving way to a moment of strange melancholy,
Emerging from which, silently, we kissed…

Yearning, as I was, to taste her moist lips
Seeking with mine the same, deft tongue
That, earlier, my jealous eyes had followed, as she licked
An invisible seam, thus, neatly sealed each dainty cigarette
In anticipation of a yet unconsumed, dangerous, new pleasure…

Avidly, our mouths and souls melted irresistibly together
Into a long, insatiable and, indeed, epic embrace.
Feeling her svelte body breathing next to mine
Almost timidly, my trembling hand
Furtively unfastened the thin, summer blouse.
Savouring a new conquest, gained in each successive button …

Meeting no resistance, I gently peeled the garment
From her delicate, bare shoulders,
Exploring the promising décolleté,
As if unwrapping the thin, ultimate layer of papier crêpe
Containing some luxurious, unexpected gift,
Anxious to discover it's precious content…

Fresh as rosebuds, on a mid-summer's morn',
Her breathtaking, delicious, white breasts
Rising and falling in voluptuous waves,
As the mighty Ocean swells majestically
Obeying to the primitive, maternal heartbeat of the Earth .

The couple rose in one instinctive, coordinated movement,
Still enlaced, as they were, in the same lasting embrace
As in a famous, dynamic pose immortalized by Rodin
Or, a prélude to some romantic, improvised pas de deux ;

Abandoning their last, meagre raiments,
In negligent disorder on the bare floor,
Candidly revealing the naked splendour
Of their ripe, young bodies,
Incandescent with mutual desire…

Almost innocently, without a word,
She took me by the hand,
Confidently drawing me into her small bed…

Such Ulysses, tossed and tumbled by tempestuous tides,
Washed up by the waves on the Circe's enchanted shores
Awaking, incredulous, in the divine arms of a goddess
Bewitched, as it were, for Eternity, by her incomparable charms.

Regretfully, was he to quit those sublime sheets.
Obeying to a blind Destiny that called him elsewhere,
Beckoned by new adventures on distant shores,
Doomed to succumb to the songs of another Siren,
He set sail for some far away land never to return…

In reality, our paths would cross, now and again,
As if by accident, in certain old, familiar places,
Almost anonymously, in the form of common mortals.
Alas, the spell was broken…
Undoubtedly by some cruel, jealous God.
Never again dared we flirt so impetuously with Eternity…

Never again, innocently, would we lie together
Blissfully endowed with perfect, glowing bodies
Metamorphosed by subtle, secret potions,
Ephemerally entwined on her tiny, erstwhile single bed.
Our intense, spontaneous, self consuming passion
Left in a fragile pillar of ash on her bare, wooden floor.





Edward Ashley LAMB
St. Julien-des-Points, FRANCE
Juillet 2007