His
touch was soft . My lips touching his skin brought back memories from
childhood of my magic wand, velvet and
organic. It was made of a young Pussy Willow branch, which I methodically used
to carress my cheeks with the soft buds, safe touch. Mother…
James
was kind and shy in his approach. His delicate ivory skin brushed again
mine accidently as we walked side by side down the crowded San Franciscan
street.
I
received his honeysuckle scent as he walked by my side. His bouquet
fought for territory amongst the city smells of strong, black coffee and hot
asphalt.
Before
us the wind swirled in the black and white magic of Walker Evans, harkening
back to a time where young lovers required a chaperone.
Our
chaperone was the ringing church bells across a green city park meadow.
We sat upon a small bench leaning up against one another. His hair
glowing under the sunrays. His eyes wide like a doe’s, so generous and
innocent.
Our
hearts full now with bygone days.
Days
when life seemed simpler and innocent.
Here he was, holding me safe up against his body. His innocence filled my ears with a softer bell. It was his soul opera emerging, a demure echo from his heart.
Fog, Lincoln Park, Legion of Honor, #0538-7D
© 2013 James W. Murray, all rights reserved.
(click image for larger version)
Details: October 14, 2012; Canon 7D; f/9 @ 1/250 sec; ±0 EV; ISO 500;Canon EF 70-300mm f/4-5.6L IS USM @ 300mm
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