Stacy Ann Link

Even now
the sight of you
might stop my heart.
A sweet death.

How could your
ocean blue eyes,
broad square face
colorless, coarse hair
wide and rounded shoulders
have this effect?

I remember falling into
your arms during warm
Summer nights while
The radio played late night be-bop.
That floating chaos
echoing in my chest,
heart beating in time

Those hands of yours
cupped my body.
Taking them in mine,
I was satisfied by their gentle
square tips and white half-moons.

But mostly, it was your eyes
The here/not here stare of a
jazz musician
transported by the
time signature of a tune
not in this world but
some place just west of here
shimmering in the distance
and the shimmer reflected
like some mirage a
promised oasis
a lifetime away.