Old Flame

Old Flame

My memory plays the tricks

of age, making the lines

and shadows disappear

from your face.

I catch your eye and,

turning half away,

you beckon with a look

for me to follow.

Your hand slips

comfortably into mine

and we move off into the night,

there to live our

shared fantasies:

and then my head jerks,

lolling, half asleep in

my chair,

dreaming

half-remembered dreams,

I wake,

seeing you there

across the room,

and then

I light the flame once more

a thousand times.

© 2006 : Colin Gordon-Farleigh