PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

     Remember when? Ah, yes. That was a time. Reminiscence is a habit of mine, yes, drawing up the past and squeezing it together until it cramps like an accordian. Ah, yes those were the days. Those were the moments.

     In fact, that reminds me of that afternoon. You know. It was a bright, adolescent afternoon in the daisy field. We walked passed the aged ditch to where the meadow of trees and daisies lay, the ageless elbow trees.

     "What an afternoon, Cyrano!" you said, grasping me by the hand in exultation. I had packed a picnic, and quickened pace. We skipped along, picnic basket in hand, the fair sun drenched in heavy heat.

     Remember when? When I lost my breath? I sat down then, and lit a cigarette. You rolled your eyes abnoxiously. You never liked my smoking habit, and frankly, neither did I.

     I ashed my cherry-flavored cigarette onto a single daisy lazily, laying down in the flower bed. You joined me, letting your long, blonde locks fall over your eyes. You brushed them away with a slight giggle.

     You know, that will kill you. That's why you ran out of breath so fast," you said.

     "I know, I know. I'll only have one."

     "You really should quit," you said sternly. You knew how much I've tried, nad yet you always seemed to remind me. We ate our scones and drank a small glass of brandy each, silently giving each other seductive looks, slowly sipping down our liquor. Silence speaks louder than sound, remember. Especially in this instance.

     "Would you like another scone, Elizabeth?" I asked coyly. You got up, and started skipping toward a distant elbow tree.

     You tilted your head, gesturing me to follow. Naturally, I obliged. Remember now? Remember when? As you reached the young tree, you shrank.

     "Elizabeth...?" I asked nervously.

     "Yeah?" You gasped, for your voice was that of a ten-year-old girl. Your body was that of a ten-year-old as well!

     "Cyrano...?!" you said with a clean blade of panic through your voice. "I'm young again...Is it the tree, Cyrano?"

     "I...I think it's the brandy," was my reply. I walked up to you, and as I did, my skin smoothed involuntarily, my throat was clean of nicotine, my posture was shorter and straighter.

     "Some brandy, huh?" you said, holding me to your young, undeveloped body. We were two children in blooming puppy love.

     "I don't want this to end..." I whispered, and kissed you long and slowly, savoring the soft touch of your fertile tongue on mine. We withdrew, as you remember now.

     "It would be wierd, Cyrano, to see two children making out, if someone were to show up..." you said with a slim regret.

     "I want to be like this forever, love." We walked away then, adoring our fertile age, but as we did, it faded. We went back to the basket with hands held tight. I looked at you, and you at me. I touched the slight wrinkles under your eyes that had returned.

     "We're old again," I said chuckling. You laughed, too.

     "Maybe YOU'RE old, I'm only 28-"

     I kissed you suddenly, cutting you off. And remember when? When we made love next to the basket, in the field where time is not distinct? You and I?

     You sat up and sighed deeply. Then you ran off, down the sloping daisy field scattered with elbow trees. You ran by tree after tree, each young and healthy. I watched your form oscillating from age to age, illuminating in shades and textures of skin, changing from ear to ear of your naked body.

     I grabbed a cigarette and lit it, and started after you. I felt my body fluctuate as yours had, I felt my body grow and shrink, and grow yet again. My heart raced with thrill. I tossed my cigarette and sped up.

     You glanced back behind you, smiling at me. You had such radiance, such energy. Remember what happened? You sat by a tree. I stopped and stood in utter panic, in complete stale horror. I swallowed hard as I watched you, your motionless nude underneath the old, dead tree. A lump of pain collected in my throat as I ran to her, not forgetting my certain fate.

     So, here we are, my love. In heaven? Hell? Limbo? We are dead together, perhaps, or are we alive? Tell me, love, do you remember when we ever were alive?

     "No"

     Neither do I.

     "You forgot stamps that morning, or was it this morning?"

     How did you remember?

     "Well, when you bought those cigarettes you were at the gas station, where stamps must have been used to ship them there."

     Well, I never did remember them. But, tell me, love. Do you remember you and I ever really existing?

     ...Neither do I...