Lydia

by Eric Jacobsen,  October 26, 1998


For days after you left
the lingering aroma of your perfume
in my room, on my pillow
would gently tickle my senses
just like you did
and I'd think of you.

In an instant and for ever
you'd wanted me while I craved you
but a devil with a cross,
no, a club shaped like a cross
kept us apart
and I lost you.

My first and truest love
the vivacious blonde beauty of my youth
all my days I've thought of you.
I'd look in the stars and wonder
if you thought of me.

Our lives apart were cruel
separate agonies unfolding
unnecessary tragedies
because I'd believed the lie
that ripped the fabric
that held our love.

And after many years
of work and study and other loves
other lives, other places
a long river of living
always apart
I'd still think of you.

Your laugh filled with life
a devious sense of play that gave me delight
in my car, in the park
we'd done everything and nothing
I remembered
when I thought of you.

And then in a moment
your voice flowing over me from the phone
I hear you, I'm shaking
our words touch and dance once again
like they used to
we say, "I love you."

We met dressed to kill
the chauffeur and the calendar girl held hands
walking through the airport
we picked up where we left off.
The devil's dead
and I still love you.