I met an elusive Elise at an airport,
crossing over from one life to another.
French with perfect English, Arabic as well, I guessed.
Gatwick to Casablanca, or so she said,
somewhere sort of secret for the weekend, probably love,
or playing a part in a popular holy war.
An accent to melt ice cream,
a smile to light up the terminal.
The sort of girl you wish to meet once in a life
with the moon in the right place.
Staring at her, open mouthed in wonder,
a glimpse of another version of reality.
Do I deserve this? a girl that’d hang on my mind…
only knowing half of her name…not even half of anything else.
Just a memory, a wisp of passing perfume on the street,
turning it’s gone, a quick flash in a life...like an old camera momentarily blinding,
the after effect visible to the naked soul.
Stark in a reverse negative, forlorn.
The risk of standing at the edge of the love pool…
the splash of a girl washing over you…
in another moment away from the water nymph…
back to the hiss of volcanic life…
regret and sadness bubbling over…
a dream in an imagined path.
Only ever waking to shadow,
she oblivious to the bells and sirens of déjà vu…
fading away, like love…
This was in the latter half of 2013 - if you know an Elise from then / there ask her to reach out... :-)