Almost Forty Years Ago

How do I mourn and or remember a time, almost forty years ago, with my first love? White wine, surely not red or even rosé, but sweet, could be a start, under a tree overlooking the rising Sun following a night of feasting after such a long fast. The setting Sun would lose its splendour before that night, when her skin and flesh would surpass it, no matter the ambient lighting, as long and short bursts of love and lust, and passion, would fill the atmosphere, searching for some molecules from 1984, and 1985.

Will she hold my erection and caress it at least once for every year without her? Will at least thirty-nine strokes of lust reawaken any love that she felt so long ago, or vice versa? Will such love resuscitate the lust, however restrained it may seem in the illuminated dark? Will my senses intersect in serenity for her perceptible prizes, or act like lone wolves, beholding, touching, smelling, tasting, and listening to each protruding part? Will her senses follow suit, or demand a higher stage?

I can already perceive my responses to seeing her at the door; any door to a closed space, where I could write poetry with her sweat and her words of encouragement. She would have to leave her clothes at that door, save her panties, which would later disappear when she is asleep or peeing. That would be a stream I would listen to; a pussy symphony following the display of adoration I would initiate in a certain number of acts, although the first would have to be monumental.

I can imagine the air around us that night; misty at times but mostly wet with love’s rain; tropical droplets all over her body, from her lustrous hair to her sticky toes. I would do my best to be gentle, but I know that I would appear feverish and not always in charge of every move and movement. I could be famished and possessed, or at least seem to be, as I eat her delectably until the last morsel, or the sound of her voice begging me to stop but motioning me to continue until drunkenness.

Forty years of days and nights beyond

Inasmuch the Sun kept on shining

Reminding of wee things she had donned

Stripped of main pieces and their lining

Tantamount to another life within

Love without means can spell years in decades

Overblown by senses learning to spin

Vivifying past events with charades

Enveloping my world with a shut-in

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Dedicated to my first love.

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Shigeru Umebayashi - In the Mood for Love