I found your number.
The note was tattered,
the ink was smeared.
It was written in your hand.
I remember the circumstance
of our meeting; your greeting
was bold, brassy. I responded
in my shy way, and to this day
I remember the scent of your perfume.
Your cocoa eyes were piercing,
you toothy grin, disarming.
It is not so alarming, I know.
You didn’t walk as much as you bounced,
and every ounce of you exuded a joy
that this bespectacled boy grew
to depend upon. It was on our second date
that I knew it was you, my love so true.
A waif of womanly wile, and did I mention
that smile? Thin and lanky, auburn hair
and fair, freckled skin, silky to touch
and so much to desire. You sparked a fire
that smolders all these years later.
You struggled with your demons,
(don’t we all struggle?) and you let them vex you.
Your anorexia would hex you and perplex me,
I couldn’t see your thinking, and I had a sinking
feeling your healing would be hard to achieve
until I would leave you to fight for your life.
I wished you could have ended up my wife,
but all I have are memories and this piece of page,
weathered and aged. I dialed the digits on a whim.
I knew you were gone. I left a message again.
“Hi, this is me. I wanted to see if the number worked.
I was such a jerk to have left you, to be bereft you
and your beauty. You were my Auburn cutie, my love.
I miss you and wish your were…BEEEEEEEEP!
(C) Copyright Walter J Wojtanik – 2014