Delightfully spinning their delirium up and around
the somber antiquity of statue and lamp post.
Thus I could not distinguish the moon dancing in her eyes
from their gossamer gaze.
The snow spun its whimsy into doorways,
then raced down the streets as like flights of gleeful children laughing.
Hopping the curbs, cart wheeling through alleyways
that I could feel their jubilation brimming.
As was the joy in my heart as I clung tightly to the warmth
radiating from her hand.
Hearts danced lightly upon window sills
leaving fleeting kisses of frost shimmering upon their glistening glass.
then flirtatiously disappearing into night’s darkness.
There to find the comfort and intimacy of
cuddling under evening’s concealment undiscovered
like the lovers we were.
Yet the snow found the curl of her hair
feathers frozen of white nestling softly within its mystery and darkness
gently stirring the fragrance of her gardens within.
An ardor of intoxicating perfume playful
of the possession and obsession we shared for each other as
her scent was upon me.
Then so she did look up at me softly
the embers of her eyes burning with lights slung low from rooftops high.
The warmth of her breath escaped a subtle smile
that her heart was magically unveiled,
enchantment suspended by evening’s chill that I could touch
might I hold to my own.
“Te amo con todo mi corazón y mi alma.”
Her cheeks warmed like a blushing rose as she spoke these words to me,
yet I could not find mine as I was smitten by the moment.
As wind swept was her hair its tendrils
still could not caress her features as tenderly as the fingers
of even my own hand.
Señorita usted es mi alma cómo yo lo adoro,
the mystery in your eyes, black as coal and yet they burn with the inferno
of embers that stir within the furnace of my own heart.
Lips soft and pouting of Spanish rose,
that as I gaze upon her tonight is to be so enchanted that I
love you ever more.
Thus we stand, surrounded by swirling snow,
the seasonal bustling streets emptied save for the longing of lost hearts
thus encouraged by the voyeuristic lights slung low from
rooftops high I can not deny opportunity.
as pressing advantage to hers she placed a finger to mine
whisperingnto my ear
© Charles Cakley Simpson 2004