Sometimes, alone in the deep of night
awakened by a presence in my heart;
seek as I might to reclaim the caress of sleep
memories, perhaps best forgotten
hold me in their keep...
the touch of your eyes when first we had met;
the feel of a room you were in.
Frank Sinatra foretelling our lives, and
the Coco Chanel on your skin.
honey-soft words you murmured to me;
the brush of soft skin on my thighs;
the taste of your sweetness; the touch of your hand;
the passion expressed by our cries.
gentle conversations filled with laughter and hope
as cigarettes glowed in the dark,
and hot afternoons, 'neath late Summer Sun
on a bench, by a tree in the park.
The Moon is a memory of sunlight,
the Autumn a memory of Spring,
and my lingering memory of a love that once lived -
The scent of Coco Chanel on your skin.