by Chic Scaparo  

A Morning in December

I woke from a dream
her face, ethereal
the expression, serious, yet peaceful
not the face of a stranger
but of one I’d known once before

her name whispered in my mind
like a spring song
in the cold of winter
telling me to wait for the sun
it will shine once more and its light
will cut wide the cloth of a darkened sky
showing me myself again

the calm in her eyes intrigued and confused me
the confusion seemed to excite rather than bewilder
it was a welcome feeling and I longed to meet her

Why did this beautiful woman come to me?
Why was it her face that brightened
the shadows of my thoughts?
Maybe to show me a new peace?
Or maybe just to find

West on 90

her toes
on the windshield
her hair
covers her face
an eye
a sad smile
Bjork elevates the mood

I fall a little bit more
a little bit harder

she’s melancholy
yet happy
I reach out
her hand is soft

the wind
shifts her dark hair
a second eye
a laugh

I’m falling
but with a destination
an understanding
a gap between us
connections turn to barriers
it’s an inevitable road 
yet we continue to drive

Bjork’s next song begins
she hits the volume
and sings

Born into the Now

I slide her toes
between my fingers
her ankles
near my lips
I kiss her heel
then her arch
my opposite hand caresses her calf
and slides slowly down her thigh
stopping to caress her stomach

I explore not every inch
but every centimeter
of her soft

her chest heaves
slowly at first
then more rapidly

she ignites me

our eyes meet
I feel her absorb into my skin
into my every thought
I become one with her

my heart pounds like ocean waves
on the rocks of a jagged coast
my once empty heart drinks her in
as though its thirst would never be quenched
I lean to her
embracing her closely
like a cold stranger
embracing a warm greeting

I never want this moment to end
I press my mouth gently against her lips
and breathe her in

East on 90

I can still smell
not perfume
not shampoo

I can still feel
her smooth
her sweet kiss
still lingers
on my
and dances with
her scent

I love you
so much
she said
only hours ago

I drive in silence
the wheels
hum somberly
beneath me
gusts of wind
find entry
into the cabin
there’s no music
no laughter

I reach for the radio
to break the solace of
rushing sound
and stop

I only want to
The Dance

About the Author:

Chic Scaparo is a filmmaker/writer living in Central New York and works for an ad agency as a video producer. He’s created many short films and has written numerous screenplays, short stories and poems as well a completed 60,000 word novel, Misty Rivers. Chic has had the fortunate opportunity to spend many years traveling the United States meeting many wonderful people along the way ultimately returning home to be close to his family and lifelong friends.