Lilacs smell like falling in love.
Didn’t you know?
full, scented sweet,
light on my neck,
Listening to Prince tonight (yes, again!) on my way back to New York from my Easter with Fox and my mom. When Doves Cry shuffles up to the top of the playlist and I am instantly thrown back in time to an ampitheater, a cool spring evening, technicians blasting that song for a sound check and me: seated high in the stands, not quite leaning against Damir, a friend of a friend, a man I had just met who was showing me the city. I had known him twelve hours. It was too early to know how completely I would fall for him, but already there was something. We sat, nearly touching, my foot tapping along with Prince, the air thick with newly-bloomed lilacs, that huge stone theatre our private space for those moments. There was something. The strengthening pull of the attraction I’d felt the moment I’d seen him that morning, static electricity sparking warmth between our not-touching hands, our not-touching thighs, between my senses and his freshly-showered skin, his aftershave, and all those lilacs, lilacs and lilacs.
Clearly I’m not going to manage a poem or post a day for April. In part, this is due to my utter exhaustion after stepping up my game and posting every day for March’s slice of life challenge. Sadly, I think it’s also due to my insistence on staying exclusively with the Zeno. This form is kicking. my. butt. Soundly. Soundly.
But tonight I heard Prince and remembered the lilacs and suddenly there was a poem.
So, no daily posts. And I’m determined not to beat myself up about it (thank you, Fox, for pointing out that such abuse is uncalled for). I’ll do the best I can, and we’ll see where that gets us.
Oh. And, because a few people asked, here’s the set-up for a Zeno poem:
ten lines with the syllable count 8/4/2/1/4/2/1/4/2/1
and, to make it fun, there’s a rhyme scheme, too: a/b/c/d/e/f/d/g/h/d