Yellow and white are my sacred colours.
We made love for the first time
Among the Easter daffodils
By the cold grey lake.-
Unconcerened by our adolescent intensity
Mute swans drifted by like regal saints.
Our last hugs came forty plus years later,
This time indoors, in a half completed building,
The Kilburn traffic shaking doors and windows.
The intensity was the same,
But more acute with terror and raw regret,
The past calling us back to where we could not go.
A zig zag surgical scar
Wrecked your perfect body
When you would have preferred to drift into Nirvana
Early rather than late.
You had once introduced me to a Hindu goddess,
Perhaps she was now whispering in your mind.
This time there was no talk of swans and daffodils,
No ducking low when the park keeper walked by
His rubber torch flashing like a fog bound Lighthouse.
Instead you gave me a pot of natural honey
And a cactus that quickly died.
I suppose we were married in a quirky sort of way,
We had never lived together
But were never really apart.
The excuse was that we were both too independent,
But our first nervous kiss prefaced a different story.
April whites and yellows remain my sacred colours,
Please Don`t dig up the lake side
To replace them with blues and mauves.
Trevor John Karsavin Potter,
12th.-14th. March 2024.
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