I could write poetry in her beauty

Singing praises against her soft waves

Whispering desire’s spell into her bare skin

Her eyes stop me, haunt me, across lifetimes

Quick-witted, sharp-tongued, but those eyes glitter

With laughter

With understanding

With regret

We can’t go back to those ancient glory days

But I am here, should you need me

Like a spirit in a mirror

Or a close friend kept just at arm’s reach

“Sit by my fire –  

Let me tell you a story…”

The story ends exactly as you remember it