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Encounter

L'amour est un oiseau rebelle... (Georges Bizet, Carmen, I, 4)

Her toes tipped down
aux petits pas
the staircase I
spiraled up. We met
halfway between my 'Sorry' and
her whispered 'Excusez-moi'.

After the tender collision
her touch revived my rusty
tongue; the Calvados kisses
she tasted opened her virginal heart.
We shared the Edinburgh
bed and breakfast room.

The rebellious bird she offered
made me reclaim the lost
French territories of my life.
She left the country
the other day; I stayed
another rainy April week.

And yet
I'll always sing
Les Roses
de la Picardie
the way she taught me to:
Souviens-toi ...

What a tender poem Tom.........
why did she leave so soon?.........

So enchanting visually, as well as by sound and image. The way an 'encounter' should be.

Thank you for your appreciative words.

It was a chance encounter in 1979, Sandra. She was scheduled to leave with her parents the very next day.

And there never was a word about meeting again. Just an encounter, or an 'encounter'...

...or, why does anyone leave so soon. Or why do we leave so soon...?