It was real or just another figment of fantasy? But, it couldn't be, because all over my skin I am wearing the scent she left there, like a love tattoo made of thousand lustful touches, yes, she was there, or...

Illustration, photo of the Confederate Oak



Umbra, the garden is sleeping wrapped in,
coyly moon hiding inside darken clouds
testing with a white finger here and there,
squirrel shadows running when disturbed
like small gossamer and ethereal creatures
mimicking Autumn’s leaves when blown.

In the middle an old and enormous oak tree
at seven paces from the well if going south,
we sat there, all of one long summer night
tasting a kiss without a end, it never could,
our lips got melted, blended into each others
with a tender agony, an elixir for the souls.

Remember my caress? Fingers got entangled
inside the wild flames of your hair all around
until the hand stops when touching your face
that was hiding in the oak’s umbra, withdrawn,
with a secret mischievous smile pulling my head
so in the deeps of your bosom I could drown.

That night was the first time or our only one?
time does all memorable things blurred down,
but my skin remember the soft touch of yours,
it was like pure silk by vestals virgins worn
slithering over me with promises of tomorrows
as you make me feel…like an Olympus god.