Poem Reminiscing about when Love was True

If I’m completely honest
with myself
I would finally admit that I
miss dearly
that time when I could love openly
that time when love
glowed on my face like the sun
on a summer afternoon
when every day was summer
and winter was far away

A time when words flowed
from my pen like water and
poems bloomed like flowers in my garden
Love once presented me with a bouquet
of poems and I
sometimes still hold them
in my hands, careful to avoid
the thorns

Who would ever believe it was
once okay to long
for love and to feel it reciprocated

I remember longing for love
on a Sunday afternoon
Caress me with your eyes.

Finger my soul, open it

as if though it were the

opening of my sex accepting you.

Fully. Washing me over in waves,

a desire to know you like no other.
I tremble. I shudder with anticipation

awaiting one single touch from you.

 

It was like existing in a dream
from which you never wanted to awaken
like holding your breath and wishing
to never exhale. It was love.
People saw it in our faces
were drawn to the light
like we were but

 

people also wanted to put out the light
so many prefer the darkness to brightness
of a love that shines from deep within
plotting behind closed doors to know
what you know never realizing
it was never theirs to know
looting and rioting stealthily removing
all traces of light
until every day becomes swathed in darkness

 

You can’t always remember to
guard your heart to preserve your light
but you can safeguard the memories
and mine are still fresh
I kept them stored in the freezer
to preserve their freshness
I’ll take them out today and remember
how it felt to long to make love
on a Sunday afternoon how it felt
to bask in a love that was wholly reciprocated
how it felt to cradle a love so full of light
it couldn’t help but touch those around me

 

I’ve decided today to just lie in my bed
and caress my memories like I once
caressed my love and tomorrow
tomorrow I will wrap it once more
in aluminum foil and begin to forget
what it was like to long for a love
that longed for me just as much

I will step back into the darkness
denying the cold denying that I ever knew
what it was like to love and to
want to make love on a Sunday afternoon

Peace & Love,
Rosalind

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About Rosalind Guy

I'm broken & my soul is weary/ my weary soul rebels, fights/ anything & anyone who tries to heal me/I beat my head against a wall of memories/ trying hard to break free from the chain of memories/ I can only be free by saying it so/ i weave a necklace from words and finally/ I find freedom/ free free free. As you can see, words are powerful to me. As Maya Angelou said, words are wallpaper of the soul. I have lots of nightmarish memories that threaten to break me, but I learned a long time ago about the power of words. They can be used to heal and destroy anything that threatens to destroy the person. Words coupled with love have the power to save and heal. I am author of three books: Skinny Dipping in the Pool of Womanhood, Tattered Butterfly Wings, and Blues of a Love Junkie. I am a high school English teacher. I am a former reporter. I am a mother. I am a woman. I am a fierce advocate for those who cannot speak for themselves, those who's voices go unheard. Check out my Amazon author page at the following link: http://www.amazon.com/Rosalind-Guy/e/B00BGH5F88/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1432491754&sr=8-1.
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