Warmth

Warmth

The shoes are back in their box now.

The best I ever had.

I lifted them off the shelf, and felt them.
Brand new, they shone from within,
And though they pinched at first, each was
The perfect fit (soft like Christmas socks…)
The best I ever knew.

We met when it was cold outside
And we had to run to stay warm;
Fingers linked tentative and rushed –
All at once.

In the early nights I watched her melt – slow –
Into darkness,
Then the timeless hours when she whispered me her dreams
And her passion punctured me like God.

But the fit wasn’t right – not then, not yet –
And it ended in cold, as the chill stole our breath
In night plumes and swirls;
The embers were doused and our newness was stolen.

(How to sum up the word of words?
‘Warmth’ I think does it some justice.
The cold gnaws, claims all,
Lays anchor to living.)

And I lay in frost those next three months,
Watching her float, nestle, soar on the spew;
The frazzled memories clogging my head like
Frayed rolls of cassette film, jarring the blood flow.

Three months I preserved her intact
Till the taste of exotic burst in on new lips.
I thought I’d let her go. I was so sure…
But, against the tide, we fell.

Again, it was cold till we made our own heat
In a moment dazzling and blessed.
And love steamed up our eyes
Like condensation screening us from the world…

There was that rush of childhood, then.
Trying for size, pacing back and forth for as long as you dared,
Glorifying in the newness, and glint, and shine.
Of course they scuffed, they wore away
So gradually you almost couldn’t tell.

The shoes are back in their box.

The best I ever had.