Idea of you

You may be long gone
You may never have been real
but what exists and will never leave
is the idea of you


You may have been lover
You may never have been friend
but what you will always be
is my muse

Dawn

I sat nursing a glass of whiskey on my usual couch. A couple of feet from me, through the open window was a great view of our beach in the moon light. A bottle of Talisker on the side table had kept me company through the still night as I buried my thoughts in the past.

It was nearly dawn before the wind picked up enough to bring in the salt and the spray of the waves in the sea through the window. The quick relief from the oppressive heat of the night aroused me from the reverie I had fallen into. There you were, standing outside on the beach near the waves, framed by the window and its sheer, now-billowing, curtains. Bare arms, a pure white cotton dress with a long slit up one side to nearly your waist. I drained my glass in one gulp, the fire of the whiskey plunging deep inside me. You stood with your back towards me, raven hair cascading over your shoulder. With practiced ease, I filled my glass with the amber liquid and sat back on the couch to watch you. The wind, now alive, swirled around you lifting your dress, gathering your body's scent on its way into my memories. You always had beautifully athletic legs.

You watched the waves and waited for the sun to begin a new cycle. I watched you and waited too.

Come the dawn, we can run away.