True Love Ways

Her dress swirled

as she moved
in front of he,
the one she so adored.
He was tall and wide-
her eyes found his
and he smiled-
her best friend
with Irish pride.
He was handsome
with his shirt buttoned
and shirt tucked into
trousers just the way
she liked it.
More handsome than
she had ever known;
he made her feel
much prettier than
she had ever known.
She was drawn to him
shy and coy
and into the night they danced.

It was two years ago
that she last had a man
and his brown eyes
looked into hers of blue,
he whispered the words
“I love you”
and held her hand
that he would use
to put out his cigar.

Ten years before
she first had a man
who declared his love
and touched her in ways
like no other would;
it meant so much
but she was confused
by the water running
thinner than blood
and the nickname
‘Lolita’
that he gave her.

And now on an old dance floor,
dressed like someone
who lived 50 years before,
she was finally held close
by a man she loved
and loved her so.
Clumsy-innocence,
he couldn’t make the move.
She leant up,
rushed it,
kissed his virginal-lips,
butterflies fluttered
and burst inside,
fought it hard,
heart pounding harder,
in his arms, in joy, she cried.

* *

The night is tired
while Buddy Holly sings
as I unbutton
my blood-red shirt
to reveal the scar
to the one I love.
And she lies back
on the bed
in silk lingerie,
beckoning me
with a smile.
She doesn’t care.
She doesn’t care
about scars;
she only cares for me.
Is she crazy?
It’s a question
I never care
to ask.