Real Moments

The beauty I might feel with sharing you with the world,

such magic in an energy

we could

touch

could feel like the rhythm of piano keys

following a melody

in the twilight of a wintry night.

 

A certain pang of envy comes across my mind,

when I see a couple

sharing hands and smiles

and frost bitten cheeks,

yet there is

a chance to put lips upon one another,

feel the heat of

unbridled passion,

the sort we look for in

a cheesy movie,

or in a found love.

 

I’m choosing real memory now,

those that allow me to

delve into the sweet elixir of  yours and mine,

and ours,

and starlit galaxies

that define a world

far beyond our

short occupation

of this our

fantasy

some stretch of imagination,

never have I allowed

to interfere

with my own reality.

 

Oh, it might be possible

to waltz away a moment

with a triggered rejection

of this energy so compelling

there was nothing ever so close as

the real fee of my hand upon her cheek,

the warmth felt when

she guided her whole self

into my waiting arms,

to hold

to cherish

to know real love

is worth

a year beheld in tear.

 

I’m writing stories now,

because I refuse to diminish love


© Scott F Savage 5/2020

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