APH Cold Water

By: Stitches TIC/Oeske-og-skjold

NethCan

It was almost like our first touch could have been our last,

Gripping your hand so you couldn't let go of mine,

Drowning,

Hunger,

What were these things that I couldn't remember when I first saw your face again in 1945,

Your smile,

It fills up my head lights of what I can see as pink,

A rosey contour or some strange new vision of a face that I had not seen for ages.

How long?

Don't leave your hand away from my cheek,

Don't take it away from mine,

Let us wait, pretend there are tulips surrounding,

Red,

Red filled tulips,

All I can imagine besides the red of the tulips is the matching sweater you're in,

The smell of maple that hints at the nose as you speak,

The homeland on your pale lips.

Why can't I tell you,

Or let you see what I wish for you to see,

With bright violet eyes of thousand year auroras over arctic plains of glistening white,

Why is there always a key to a locked up box,

At which most the key is thrown away or hidden,

I choke every time I wish to tell,

Those big wonderous eyes….

Fingers touching my cheeks as my arms extend,

Eyes closing before I feel you kiss my head as I lay in your lap,

I can't move, and it's not from the war,

But the paralyzingly sweet gaze that makes my heart sink in a red white ocean of tulips,

I couldn't stop my heart from beating,

Loud and fast,

Fast and loud,

The thumping I felt you could hear when ever we had seen each other,

I can't but bask and savor the sweet kiss, the sound of your voice,

Ringing like bells in my hears,

Let those lips become close to mine at least,

Before you disappear away from me.

It burns,

And you are the cold water.