SUMMER ROSE
I found you close to the valley. My summer rose.
You found me closer to the valley. My summer rose.
My heart dances to songs with certain melodies. Why do you sing so? Your starts and stops, your breaks and bridges, your certain melodies; they pluck strings in my soul region. They pluck strings with the gusto of an affectionate, brutish amateur. And ere I remember my long lost promise never again to let my heart rule this graying head, my waist is already weaving circles around the imaginary lines they place all around me. And then my leg is moving with the confidence of the agama lizard, taking on old allegiances and crushing them with the grace of the peacock.
I hesitated when I found it. That was not because my summer rose was inferior to the others. It seemed a sin to touch one so beautiful and untainted. And I was loath to be a cheat. As enchanted as I was by the strokes and the curls of your finish, I drew away. The green grass ripe for harvest called to me. I strode away knowing I never escaped your grip. The traveler’s curse isn’t that he is either away from home or that he has nowhere to call home. It is that once or twice in his life he is rudely reminded of the little, tiny droplets of that place he once called home. Did I not see you painted with the clouds? Did I not see you in the sands of the desert? Did I not see the blazing sunset speak your name so softly I was left speechless? But that first touch after the first was quite difficult. I feared for you. I feared I would hold your spine so tightly it would crush you. I feared I would smother you and then leave you when the freshness was gone. Tender roses seemed unfit for my calloused palms.
My love song. It isn’t as pretty and as seamless as I would have had it. And that’s because I didn’t want my summer rose to possess me at first. I was the moon you shone on. Your light poured the shine I radiated for the moonlit play of the earth’s young. I would like to say it was your enchanted smile or your cascading laughter. I would have liked to say it was your caring gaze and simple but bold beauty. I might have pointed at your welcoming embrace and your lingering kiss; at the warmth of your presence and the easing softness of your friendly stare. And I might have said it was the comfort I found in your eyes that made me stop again. I would have said the fears were gone the instant I saw you. But that would be another’s song. And I will sing you my own song for you, summer rose.
The fears were there when I stopped before you, wondering if the quiet smile in my eyes was love. My fears were there when I looked at the stars to decipher what your own smiles said. When our locked gazes lingered, the warmth from our common space was what taught me to step sideways and pluck lovingly at your sculpted stem. The warmth here melts the fear away. On this other homecoming, this one done without fanfare and panache, this homecoming to the home that always was; on this other homecoming,
Is this enough to say I always loved you?
