Golden lilacs fill my room;
their sweet smell hushing my frivolous thoughts.
"Why do you still wait for me?"
Late November is when I think of you.
As you pull sweaters onto you to warm yourself,
I let my mind ravage with your memories to seek warmth.
Warmth is subjective:
it is the Spring months of May
when the sun-ray
caresses your face
as you rest your tired head
in mid sleep.
it is the fancy winter phase
when my nights elongate
and I gather your presence
in the warm embrace
of my shawls.
Winter is enchanting here.
Although the mist hazes my mind all day,
I catch crystal snowflakes in my sleep.
Don't you know
you taught me
how to walk on still ice -
in denim shorts,
with smooth gentle steps;
how to swirl in a flamboyant pink dress
when sakura blossom -
you taught me how to write love letters to you -
with my heart on my nib.
You never did realize that you walk on snow-laden roads
leaving footprints for me to follow,
golden lilacs fill my room;
their sweet scent easing into my frivolous thoughts.