on the first of june

. . . . . . the first of  june.  a late afternoon rain,  and the grey clouds fills the  sky.  stepping out of  the doorway,  i turn the key,  and lock my  castle.   the sound of the rain taps and drips off the sides as i open the umbrella and start my hurried walk.   to the rain soaked sidewalks,    the smell of the rain fills the air.  the smile on my face as i go walking by,  tells the stranger who passes by,   the story in my head.   headlights and street lamps glowing brighter,  the worms crawl across the stone,  and the birds play in a  curb side puddle.  one by one i walk by each home,  closer to where the cobblestone path leads me;   up on the horizon,  i can see the main street crossway.  as the last house became the first store front.   the rain subsided and through a crack in the grey sky above,   the sunset quickly peeks as to say  good night.   night time,  is our time.   and the main street businesses are busy.   the locus’ sing and the clippety clop of the horse drawn carriage mixes in with the laughter of the crowd of twenty somethings,  waiting to be seated at the corner bistro.   making my way through the crowd,  i pardon myself and smile.  next door,  the ice cream parlour is busy with the families with  their children’s faces glued to glass,  picking out their favourite flavours.   across the street,  the skateboarders have made the towns parking lot their hangout spot for the night.  and there,  next to the mom and pop grocers,  sits the candlelit atmospheric  coffee shoppe.    i leave my umbrella in the entryway,   by the door in the corner.   i stop at the doorway and look in.  scanning  among  the tables and booths of a  full house.  and there,  out among the small sea of  the crowd,  i see my girl,  my  lady guinevere.   there,  in the glowing candle light,  she waves me over.   even in the dim light,  i can see the lure of her eyes.   even through the heavy scent of coffee,  i can smell her sweet perfume.  and even through the noise of the words of other people’s conversation,   i can still hear her say “hello, baby”;  as if we were the only ones in the room.   hug me hello,  kiss me love.   the softness of her hand in mine,   the waitress takes our order .  she loves to just sit there and listen me tell her about my day.  she smiles and never breaks eye contact.   the conversation can always go on, and on.  and we would never grow tired of being inside of each others presence.    she knows how to make me feel so good.   just by the little things she says;   and the things i already know, that reassures me,  in the feelings i have for her.   and i think i know just how to make her feel like a woman.   with my words,  she hangs onto every sentence,   and with every story told.    to me,  she is amazing.    like  some kind of  intricate piece of art.   every look at her,  different from the last,   finding that these feelings are deep,   and real.    with her smile,   she melts my heart.   with her eyes,   i will fall,  and with her kindness,   i will give her my mind, heart and soul.   and as soon as the couple of cups of coffee are sipped,  and the shared bottle of wine is drank,   we head out on this summers night.   the first of june,   close to midnite.   the air is cooler,   and main street is a little more quiet,  than when i arrived.   i take your hand in mine,  and we start the slow walk home,   continuing  the conversation, right where we left off.   we come to the corner;  waiting for the cross walk light to change.   there,  as we wait,   on the other side of the street the horse and carriage comes to a stop and another couple gets out.  and we hurry our pace,  and hop in.   slowly,  the carriage starts its slow pace,  and we look at the towns closed store fronts,  and quant little homes that sit in a row;   all dark and sleeping for the night.  the neighborhoods are darker because the street lamps stop on college avenue,  on the edge of the business district.   in a short detour though this neighborhood,  you looked up at the stars and we catch a shooting star,  falling fast among its home.   reach on out and grab your wish.    clippety clop,  slowly we go,   holding you in my arms.   the last quarter moon shines, and lights up the surreal,  quiet streets of our town.   i help you down from out of the carriage,  as our ride comes to an end,  and we continue our slow walk back to your place.   iron fences all  painted black,   outlining the  yards.   all the porch lights are on, one by one, all nestled in a neat little row.     all the  flags are sitting still,   no breeze,  and the cool air,  with you here,  and your hand in mine,  a  perfect night.   twenty paces ahead and the white door of yours comes into view.  our pace becomes even slower,  knowing that this walk is about to end.   never wanting this night to end,  i hold your hand tighter.   white door with a  summer flower wreath,  and a porch light glows bright.   here we are.   i thank you for a very enjoyable night and your smile flashes back on your face.  the eye contact that was made,  drew me in,  and our lips met to say good nite.   staying there a little longer,  mid kiss,  taking it all in.  the mental photograph,  that is my memory.  we  say good nite,  as you open your door and look back,   your  smile still painted on your angelic face.  and as i turn back and head to my own house,  the smile that is on my face,  couldn’t even had been wiped off.   the smile i had,  playing  the night over  in my head,   i was in heaven.   and as quick as i left her place,  i was at mine.  a perfect night had come to a close.  only now waiting for tomorrow,  when we’re meeting for lunch.  a good nite and  some sweet dreams sit and wait,  and there,  i will sooner find you again. . . . . . . . .

 

 

c. 2013 BGW

About bradford graham west

enjoy poetry about life, emotion and everything in between. it's real and true. - please read and enjoy! - bgw
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2 Responses to on the first of june

  1. reocochran says:

    Lovely thoughts which tell us so much about you.
    My heart warms when someone is smiling and almost “giddy.” 🙂

    Like

  2. reocochran says:

    This was a perfect tribute to love. You tell us so many positive qualities about her.

    Like

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