Treasure Island

Lonnie Hicks

(www.lonniehicks.com / Chicago Ill)

May-December Kisses


She is a flower given
in summer time,
full of ocean-ness;
it's vastness swims
in her eyes.

She moves soft winds before her;
floating lightly;
shiny new
with a young soul

touched only by sentiments
innocent;
all experience her delight.

She has never known Mean Love,
only Love Requited.

Joy seldom comes to the Stapled Heart
and hers has never been.

I am older than she;
I am mangled innocence;
yet still I crave what I see-
her soft putty etherealness;
her purity.

I am the Winter Bulb
underground;
she, summer sun
warming ocean waters.

I need to know
is her heart,
and my dark bulb
together
yet fertile?

What irony
meeting brings
in words wandering
cross pages
when she says;
'I love you.'

My Winter and her Spring
were clutched in her Hearts First
meandering
into Love's Realm.

When individuals
invest
their best souls
and their best
summer flailings
we must perforce
measure the fit.

She is the rare soul not potted yet
not yet a bulb a'growing
yet before me now
professing
to love my old soul
covered by
winter ground
frozen.

I ponder and say to her:
'whisper me
just one word,
your soul's summer smells
inhaled,

your bouquet refreshing
my dusty soil;
my winter eyes greying.

I am mighty stirred
by youthful seeds
yours;
which arrive with summer's souling-
fitful winds blowing
innocence
which coaxes old flowers
to new blooms.
But I am, '
I said

'I am
too old for you
but not for Summer's kiss

and planted her cheek
with my Winter kiss
and set her free
to sail
Summer Winds
to find her own
true,
younger Prince
closer to her own age.

And I died
surely that day
having forfeited life's Last Love Note
for Youths Future Bliss.

Submitted: Monday, March 09, 2009
Edited: Sunday, November 29, 2009

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