Being in Love (Poetry)

Yes. I can recall that maddening pure agony
the sheer exquisite torture of it all —
the will he won’t he ask me to the ball —
the dizzy moment just before the fall.

It echoes still — the heartstring-twanging rhapsody
at every breathless mention of his name
no other sound held magic quite the same
or turned the world and fevered wild the brain.

Some coals glow warm beneath the ash of memory
the ghosts of flame so passionately red
they flicker — drawn by fantasies long-dead —
those orange blossom dreams that filled my head.

The senses all were heightened then — ecstatically
Love’s cold leavings bitter anguish on my tongue
the feast itself devoured — gorged and gone
yet certain kisses haunt... And linger sweetly —
                                        on and on ...