Flamenco

As I walk the streets

The guitar peaks my curiosity

But it is her hips that seduce

She is dancing in rhythm to the music

The music binds them together

For they do not see the crowd that gathers around

Two that are connected through song

The connection will break upon the final string

The crowd voyeuristically watches

Oddly fascinated by the dance

He strums the last string and releases us back to the world

Flamenco

The Market Spice

In the air the smells envelope the market

Wavering through the booths

Drawing the in tourists young and old

Once captured the vendors delight them with their wares

And enchant them with their goods

These walls hold the sounds of the past

The floors will forever hold their footsteps

The Photo

Have you ever looked at a photo? Not just look…..but really looked at a photo? Today I did just that. I looked at some photos that I took many years ago. It was amazing. Once I got past the pixels and the objects I immediately was able to transcend back in time. The time and place the photo was taken was vivid in my mind. I was not looking but I was part of the photo.

Everything came rushing back.

I remembered what I wore on that day…the blue plaid flannel shirt…the fitted 501’s that were perfectly broken in…the waffle stompers on my feet…the backpack I wore. The neutral lipstick I wore that offered my lips just enough outline and enhancement. The mascara put on to highlight my eyes. The perfume, just light enough to crave a closer inspection.

The drive was long. We spoke about all and yet nothing at the same time. There were long moments of silence in between gushes of tentative conversation. Small similarities became a big deal.

I remembered the smells. The saltiness of the ocean air. The smell of the moss that grew on the bark. The smell of the rain that had fallen earlier in the day. The smell of his shaving cream mixed with his musk.

I remember the tastes. The picnic we packed was simple. The wine was expensive and had an oak after taste. The fruit was gathered from a roadside fruit stand. It was fresh and ripe.

I remember the solitude. We were the only two people on the beach. For that matter we were the only two people in the world. The world stopped on that day. The ruggedness of the cliffs and smoothness of the sand seemed so contradictory. A northwest version of the “Garden of Eden”. Only here, was nothing forbidden.

I remember the flirtation. Each touch was electrifying. Each moment we didn’t touch seem to last an eternity.

I remember the kiss. Tender and lingering. Passionate and intense.

When I look at the photo, this is what I remember.