Reminders

Your smile reminds me of a Vermont lake 
front-lit by early morning sun.

And there are your eyes to consider. 
They're like the green of the opposite bank, 
the haven I am always swimming toward.

When you sit,
I'm with you in a boat
that's gently rocking.

But, when you move,
you stretch out across the water's surface
and I'm frantically paddling.

If I could only touch you
but my stroke is not powerful enough.

And a kiss might even require an ocean liner 
with me as captain 
and you a passing mermaid.

That's how it is with some company. 
Imagery must do for reality.

On parting,
I imagine a chunk of ice
breaking free of a glacier
and floating where the current takes it.
A berg, yes,
but prone to melting.

Author: John Grey