Lisboa Tryst
your fingertips touch mine
meeting half-way, at arms' length
(my arms your waist encircle lightly)
you sit so that our knees don't touch
but near enough to let me hear you breathe
(you lean against me with your legs hooked over mine)
You straighten a black fold in your long dress
and still we weigh first words and wait
(your hand is on my hand, and mine is on your breast)
a hair has strayed to tease your cheek
you look away to range it with your hand
(I breathe a kiss behind your ear, you close your eyes)
you deftly rearrange your skirt over your knees
as if to state the case for your defence
(our eyes are locked, we are too close now not to kiss)
you hold my gaze, the solemn pledge to seek and read
you smile, and shine your riddles on my question-marks
(I think I know how much it hurts for you to come, or go, or stay)
(Grace's other song)
now
isn't here isn't there isn't where
we are
what we are
how we are
never
seeing anything that is
not
the past seen
from the future
never
going anywhere
but
where we'll be
once we've gone
what time is it
now
standing so near that you:
are more than what the wind
of petals has of trees
of grass of seasons past
of earth and fallen rain
of sea and ocean in between
our moments of suspended time
where in the history between
each heartbeat a new star
finds fire and shines and dies
you stand so near to me that I:
can taste you on my lips
by merely breathing in
standing so near that you:
are all of what the wind
of fragrance has for me:
breathing bonding me to you
bonding me child held lips to breast
held heart to heart
Levi Wagenmaker born in the last year of the 2nd World War, cosmopolitan for the moment living in the Netherlands, retired journalist, student days
comedian and writer of satire (lyrics and music), reactivated poet, Elizabeth's partner for 22 years, in love with language since the first long forgotten
word learnt, Flemish young poet Rhode Liana Hagmeijer's English translator. Favourite poet: Eva Salzman. Private utopia: the matriarchate.
Email: Levi Wagenmaker
Return to Table of Contents