There are some moments we never forget however long we live. And that time with you is one of them.

We walked out of the hotel as dusk was gently shrouding the trees and the bay road, and we walked onto the pier stretching from Berekeley into San Francisco Bay. You were carrying an Indian blanket you treasured, and I couldn’t think why we would need it on the pier, except perhaps against the wind. You led me to the furthest point and we watched the deep water move under the pilings, and you bubbled with memories of childhood times spent out here in the bay.

Slowly we walked back, stopping to look at the lights across the water, and to ask some youths with their rods hung over the Pier, if they had caught anything for their supper.

Then, further on as I was leaning on the rails watching the night, you threw the blanket around me, with you under it, clinging to me from behind. And I can still feel it — the holy feeling in my chest and throat — the sudden wetness in my eyes with the salty water burning. Your breasts and body were warm against me. But stronger even than that was the sensation, the awareness, of your delight. You were a child, brimming with pleasure at how you had wrapped us together in this exquisite intimacy; shut away from the world in our own private place. You were a woman with glad sparkling eyes holding me so tenderly, telling me how precious I am to you.

And so I love you very much my tender Californian woman, my wonderful bright eyed child. I love you for giving me such treasures that I carry with me always, and only unwrap to look upon in special moments when I can bear your absence.

Copyright ©2005 Tony Crisp

Copyright © 1999-2010 Tony Crisp | All rights reserved