I Miss The Wind Chimes In Your Garden Poem by Francis Curran

Like a hypnotist's spell counting to ten;
I was gone for the murmuring of summer’s last breath,
And first heard the breeze chime in your garden.
To come to you sitting on the tread of a door,
Smoking a roll up with a book on your knee.

You looked up to greet a rattled eye,
And beamed a broad smile that lights up a face,
As the sunshine poured from your beautiful mouth,
And I knew as your tumbling words spun in my head,
And melted the ice that thawed and froze
Between us and the turning of our seasons.

That both these souls belonged in a bed

You reach over passing a cigarette,
I said, 'That blows a year's hard slog in quitting'.
And the wild and black curls of your hair,
Lingered kissing on the summit of your shoulders.

And you, un-witting in a flimsy white top
Bestowing me the wonder of your breasts.
The brimming oasis of a dark nipple
Rouses me sunburst and snow blind shock
Slap bang in love before hitting the floor.

The boom of your electric- pulsing mind
Spirals me staggering back for more, spinning
In the cacophony of intermittent collisions to come.