My Younger Days.

Am back to my younger days, each time I see you,
I think about you continuously, as the rain kisses my nose my face,
the silence is the killer, between the words,
when there are no words, yet there's suppose to be love.
these words strain through my mind, as I stand by the door, 
it hasn't stopped raining, the winds, picking up, a wet, wet night,
just stood motionlessly, the shadows descended,
as she stood there in silhouette,
which made her seem more desirable,
except for the age, nothing seemed to have changed,
she looked wonderful. Thank goodness we brook up,
that made her more alive in me,
the wind catches the book she's reading,
as she looks up, her eyes settle on me,
for a moment we just stood frozen in time,
it was wonderful, just standing there,
inhaling that scent of hers
and that aroma of coffee seems to follow her.
She looks up once more, then looks away,
all of a sudden there's a power cut, darkness descends,
as I strike a match, she says thanks,
just like a novel or a movie, once the crowds go,
that leaves just the two of us.
However life not that simple,
I find a space on the bench, & sit looking at her,
as the light fades between light and dark,
the wind and rain still falls,
behind closed doors we light the lamps,
open windows, nights of poetry,
is she thinking the same, is it, she! 
or am I getting a hopeless romantic,
or it's not her, it's not she, as the light falls on her face,
he realizes, it's not her, she's not the same woman,
I was looking into the eyes of a stranger,
I shivered, stranded there, she was not the one I've fallen for,
many moons ago, I stand alone although she reminded me of her.
oh is it an illusion, no, no illusion
there's nothing left between them, 
Except poetry.

                    Connie James.