Bliss (Poetry)

When I am old I will remember this -
each moment etched, the golden scene engraved -
one breathless evening climaxed with a kiss,
and every cherished detail fixed and saved.

One perfect evening from, perhaps, a score
of others spent - so easy to dismiss
as pleasant times, diversions, nothing more,
and pale in contrast to such nights as this.

While other images might lose their glow,
fading like an adolescent's wish
for fame, or some hot crush cooled years ago,
and exorcised to love's benign abyss,

the echoes of tonight are locked inside,
swiming in the dark as secret fish,
shoaling on a warm and tender tide,
nibbling at regrets and foolishness.

Then, when I'm old, old cat upon my knee,
I'll rock; recall the sweetness of his kiss;
and feel, once more, the surge of ecstacy
and tremble, moonstruck, on the edge of bliss.