In my last post, I wrote about writing, the art of writing, the soul of writing. Writing to me is essentially my escape and domain of a private world which I allow others to see me. It is of that world which allows me to acknowledge and give my individual self of not only creativity, but passion. A lot of people ask me when I write poetry, "Who is this about?" or "Is this a true story?" People are amazed with the level of details and intricacy involved to retell and recount human moments. Because made out of flesh and blood, we are prone to forget. We take advantage, and are prone to forget the simple moments: a kiss with our lover, the dance with our father, the cooking lessons with our grandmothers. Even I forget. But in poetry, I remember. I close my eyes and can find the room which I was in, the temperature of the day, the placement of objects, and the raw emotion of the moment. This poem that I wrote, "In this Moment" is appropriately titled for the beautiful moment I once had with my love.
Sit back with ease and let your mind escape into my world. (even if it is for a moment) Enjoy.
"In this Moment"
In quiet moments hidden under florescent lights subdued by the flick of the switch
I saw you. Every intricate line that I know of your face
the slender of your lips
the scent of your cologne warmed by the heat of our bodies' closeness
I enjoyed this…tender moment.
and I was scared to let go.
scared to lose the grip of your fingers
the skin pressed upon my hand
the reassurance of your grip upon my shoulder
but I inched closer,
knowing that even time could not melt my desire
intrude upon this moment this passion this togetherness
of pure delicateness
in the cold of the winter of the small apartment.
and I wanted you.
I saw you. I listened to you command your bass in your voice
as retold stories were reexamined and found, lost upon lifetimes apart
worlds apart, regions apart yet joined together
at this moment. At this moment, I saw you-truly you
listened to the confessions of the four letter gone wrong
through tug-of-war and years of separation not intended
dreams and hopes that once fulfilled togetherness would be our ultimate satisfaction.
I listened. listened to the ways which I could not understand the depth which
he reached for me the passion he reserved for me the jealousy that he did not act upon
for my simple happiness. if only I knew, he said. if only I knew.
and I listened. not wanting the clock to tick into minutes upon the second hand
the sun to rise in a few hours
the day to be forgotten upon the many others.
I saw you. And in that moment, I loved you. I loved you as if my life did not skip a beat,
a pure dimension that was lost to the hiccup of years that came. I loved you.
I loved you beyond years, beyond foolishness and disappointment
Regrets and let-downs but not a put me down.
I loved you. and love you. and continue to love you and love you.
And I saw you. Everything that you tried so hard to suppress and not let go
Hide and let me seek…I saw you.
And in that moment, just for that moment-
I had you again.
-b.r.rivera
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