She remembers the fallen leaves and wild berries. The days between light and flame. Grace and grit. It must have been November.
She takes up her pen and begins with heart lines and red hours lost long ago.
That was the month when two lovers sought love’s lure. Committing all its crime. They created their own film -noir.
Silhouettes on the hardwood. He and she dancing in the darkness, into chemistry, heated stares, into the witching hour’s pleasures of sensual things.
A sultriness between them. His hand in her hair. Beauty. The flicker of a lamplight, as bodies ignite. Wildfire embracing the roundabout.
The flame grabs what it wants. Naturally, without thought. She knows they are going to give themselves to it The heat, the delights of nakedness and fresh sheets.
Foggy window..Clothes on the floor. Lost in music and a wordless fathom where nothing exist yet, but this moment.
Her heart remembers. Storm beneath the skin. Orange leaves igniting. Branches entwined. Bursting buds. His essence inside her. Plunging toward the place only he’s allowed to go. Deepening each moment. Casting a cinematic sheen.
She remembers the girl she was clothed in him, suffused with hope and exclamation points. Desire so fresh, it felt palpable before it burned away.
Now she writes of lost fire in her notebook of blue. Trying to decipher what the past really wants. Letting language fall out between half moons and melancholy stars. She lives off the leftover syllables, a love unsustainable, and everything she never told him.
My cover of Nat King Cole’s “Unforgettable” for Danny and Diane.