Young lover waiting in a school bench
alone, drenched in rain; puddle of water
still reflections of a love ill Neruda:
Will she comeback? Will she leave me here, dying?
And she arrived, the love of my life in purple umbrella
tiptoeing and I saw her eyes in search of me,
her beautiful oriental eyes I knew too well,
meeting mine and she lifted her lips
making my young heart thumped the way
a fourteen year old love poet would have;
and we walked in rain, so close, so close
that my heart burst and sprang poetry
they weren’t just words, nor they were just images
they were pure poetry seeded in her eyes,
her being and her beautiful soul, reflected in mine.