‘The lost and found’
(The lost and found
A Poem by Coyote Poetry
When love is misplaced. hard to find again.)
The lost and found
I loved the Monterey nights. I would walk from Fort Ord, California to downtown Monterey nightly. The beach was empty till Seaside. The entrance to the Pacific was always scattered with people. I always stopped and talks with a fellow writer by the Seaside ocean entrance. She would show-up at the poetry readings, read her two poems and escape into the night. She learn to like my time with her by the sea. She called me the dark and crazed Poet. I called her my sad eyes angel.
She was a New Jersey beauty who left home because of abuse. She rarely talks of home. I told her often. Better to allow the bad memories to lay dead. Sometimes don’t help us to be fixed or be healed. She told me often. She was in the lost and found. Wasn’t looking to be found or anything near. She accepted the solitude and tenure of the safety of being forgotten and left alone by the sea.
I told her the deep-sea hide things wanting to be hidden. Sooner or later, a great storm brings all things to surface. Even the deep waters and the hidden bays must come to light.
She looked to my eyes and she told me. “I’m near the sea to seek calm. I’m not seeking pinnacles of love glory or wanting someone to worship or need me. I’m more siren than muse. My hands and body are drenched in blood of broken promises and my lips steal and borrow till I need love no-more. Love isn’t a blessing and my loins are never content. Women who know and need deep thrusts of passion and to increase their hunger with every kiss and embrace. Are just sirens waiting for desperate men.”
I laughed at her words and I told her. Sirens and monsters are the most of us. Some of us are lovers of love. Some of us love the beauty of perfect eyes, the robust women who dance to song and whispered sweet tale of erotic dance bringing men to their knees. Love is twisted. People confuse sexual bliss with love. They are two different places. Sexual bliss is a need that grow with every touch till we cannot know the perfect ending no-more. Love is people who talk, hold hands and have concern for another. Love take time and understanding. My dear lady in the lost and found. If you don’t want to be found. You won’t.
She laughed at me and she told me. “You bring me tequila and lemon. You allowed me to rest against you in the cold of the Winter nights and you hold my hand as we walk. You never try to take what I would give freely. I know you are a fearless man. You don’t fear the night or the sea. I watched you suicide board in the Winter storms. Your poetry of dead things not forgotten make me cry. I see in your eyes. Kindness, not pity. This is why I allow you near.”
Pretty poet laid against me by the entrance of the ocean near the Seaside entrance. I told her. I came here to the Pacific to heal too dear poet. Life isn’t fair or easy. Easy to create walls of protection. Harder to climb the walls. Learn to live again. We will be okay. We have the sea and a fresh lemons and a bottle of good tequila. We will drink the Devil juice and dance for the stars and the moon tonight.