Two Steps and Down

You visit me smiling,
while hiding behind bright colors
and pink ice cream.

Once we wandered the
mirrored rooms of Bloomingdales
looking for a spring hat. And
we walked, fingers just touching
fingers, through the graying crowds
of Manhattan.

We walked city streets
and went nowhere together,
feet stepping out
as if one mind guided us
both. On wooden horses we
became children,
your pink cotton dress
showing knees and flowing
in the Wurlitzer wind.
In the shadows
we brushed lips
good-by and allowed eyes
to dim with tears.

It was in the heat
of September that I
loved your green eyes.
They flew wild with every
hint of my caring.
You disowned me, saying that
I was too similar. I never
gave up. In the cool of
November, we made love with
fingertips and never touched
flesh.

The meeting of lips
was always well timed and
reserved for moments of
coming and going.

And your visits continue today;
pink is your favorite color;
and I imagine
what you are really like.


Copyright 1980-2003 by Peter A. Stinson.
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry 360 with permission of the author.