The only poem I'm not ashamed of...

Music & Love

I believe in second chances because I believe in love.

I know now that it all depends on good timing.

We lost time with discord, but now we're dancing to the same rhythm.

Do you hear the music playing? Babe, that's our music.

Dance with me now, let's get lost in this beat.

Do you feel that pitter-patter of my heart?

You always had my heart

and from the beginning, I knew it was love;

The kind of love that makes your heart beat

faster with every second. And you hope the timing

is right. I remember sitting in the car listening to music.

Making out under the stars, we found our rhythm.

Dance with me now, to this perfect rhythm.

Let your heart dance with my heart.

Nothing else matters now, let's just dance to the music.

In this song, let us be lead by love.

It's all about timing, oh how it's all about timing!

Dance with me now, dance to this beat.

Do you feel my heart beat?

Do you feel the speeding rhythm?

I feel a breeze of confidence that our timing

won't let us down. Here babe, put your hand on my heart.

Can you feel my love?

God, I love this music!

Let's make love to the music.

Let our hips make some beats.

Let's make sweet love

under these stars, in a continuous rhythm.

Let your heart make love to my heart.

Steady babe, it's all in timing.

If ever there were a perfect time

To know what music

Really feels like it'd be now. In my heart

there's a beat. It's a continuous beat.

And that never-ending rhythm

Will never die. That's what you call love.

It's all in the timing. So, let's dance to our beat.

Let's dance to our music, let's dance to our rhythm.

Feel my heart babe. This time, it's love.

"Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass." ~Anton Chekhov



Perfection.

The Lover

I like it this way, Elena told herself as she observed the tire tracks left behind on her dirt-paved driveway. They looked permanent there this time, as if nothing could wash them away. Even if a storm hit, she would still notice the tire tracks. They were perfectly etched in her memory. The tracks meant he was there, and then he wasn't. Elena knew he wasn't going to stay. She knew it from the way he had acted like a guest the entire weekend, picking up after himself, re-packing the simple things like his toothpaste and electric razor.



There were "I love you's" and "I missed you's", but she knew better. She wasn't nineteen anymore, working at Delancy's. It worked then. It worked again at twenty-five, then at thirty. But at thirty-six, his charms just seemed mechanical. But nevertheless, she let him in. It had been raining and he looked pathetic, standing there in a soaking wet suit and a bouquet of red roses. Elena didn't even like roses.



She didn't ask where he had gone or where he had been. He didn't try to give any explanations. She just handed him a towel and stood by the doorway as he took off his slacks and unbuttoned his dress shirt. It was one of the few things she still loved about him, watching him undress. He always looked so vulnerable and unsure of his body, which she also loved. So when he walked over to her and pressed her up against the wall, she allowed herself to feel him, just one more time.



That was Friday night.



On Saturday, she made them coffee and they sat on the porch. A couple on the beach played with their young daughter. "Daddy! Daddy! Throw the ball my way!" she shouted enthusiastically. Her curls bounced with every jump.

"That could be us," he said.



That will never be us, she had thought to herself.



That night, they made love twice.



"Do you still love me?" he asked her.



"Of course I do," she replied.



The next morning, he was gone.



I like it this way, Elena told herself, sipping her coffee. At nineteen, she thought he was the love of her life. And she did love him, at nineteen. She loved him at twenty-five and even thirty. But at thirty-six, she no longer did.