Bogumil Pacak-Gamalski

Song of Love

1
The waves are calling –
blue sky caressing white foam
of the sea, embracing the shape
of clouds taking bath in it.

Like you – your hips, your hand
in mine, your touch on my chest,
my fingers in your hair learning
the shape of the lobe of your ear.

The air is moist, fragrant, 
the air is still around us.
And whispers, words quivering
with anticipation, expecting.

Longing anchored in our sight,
begging, trembling impatiently.
Eyes searching, touching, embracing.
The air dancing, pirouetting, flirting.

2
Memory. Your years of boyish youth.
Fear of rejection, of not finding 
the answer you dreamt of. The torture of
that fear. The air is suffocating, dense.

Imperious impatience asking urgently:
is it? our love? Hey, boy! You promised 
to find it – our love. You promised
that I will be in love. Our pact for life.

I! I! I must know how it feels! The air!
Must feel it myself: impatience, hungering.
Not tomorrow, not in some future. Now!
My youth not wanting innocence anymore.

I want to be guilty of stolen nights,
of jumping through the window
to magical streets leading to forbidden
dark pathways in dense parks.

Finding other eyes, other fingers
searching for me in the pantomime
parade of shadowy silent silhouettes.
In the dense air breathing heavy.
	3 
Finding you waiting for me.
You finding me. We will know,
when our eyes will meet. We.
Not me, not you. We – lovers.

(dedicated to my late husband, John)