Stolen Lemons

Late summer afternoon
Sun baking concrete
Engine groans and acrid exhaust
Never ceasing as
The traffic rushes by
Our ears and our noses

You sensed that I was growing
Restless, ill at ease
In the stifling heat of the city street
And you may have also realized
The fear that lurked underneath
Trepidation about what was to come
What we would be
Together

Suddenly I felt your hand clasping mine
Pulling me across the avenue
Dodging the furious rush
And then safe to the other shore
Down a flight of steps
To a rusted metal dock
Where a small boat stood ready
To carry us away from this place
From the heat and the noise
And more

Once in the boat and moving through
The dark, calm water, I felt
As if the cares that had gnawed at me
Were slowly washing away
And the air felt lighter
As it moved by my skin and through my hair
And the city, seen in movement,
Seemed brighter, yet full of secrets

We approached a tropical maze,
An exotic realm of lush gardens
Concealing colorful houses like jewels,
Their roofs tiled, their windows draped in linen.
Each bathed in hibiscus, passiflora, 
Firebush and wild allamanda,
With palms towering above, and
Thick trunks gnarled with strange vines
And branches that stretched so wide, so low
That they seemed like wings spreading
Over the clipped, verdant lawns,
Protecting the tender grass with their shadows.

I felt your arm wrap softly about my waist
As we faced the horizon together,
Feeling the breeze against our faces,
Smiling into the bright sun which
Was no longer our adversary, but our guide.
Winding through the beckoning canals,
I felt so at ease, and even more so in your embrace,
Safe it seemed, no longer feeling that gnawing
Inside me, that prickling worry about
What everything meant, what was between us.

We approached an especially wild garden,
Slightly overgrown, dark and mysterious,
Surrounding an old, ivory stucco cottage,
Its walls thickly wrapped in downy jasmine,
Sprays of tiny, white, star-like blooms
Sending soft, fragrant invitations to us
To come closer.

To my surprise you pulled up to a
Deserted, small dock and beckoned me to
Get out and explore.
"Does anyone live here? It looks a bit neglected,"
I asked you, and you held a finger up to your lips
And pulled me out of the boat, into the garden,
Trespassing, it seemed, so a bit of a thrill.

I could feel leaves and branches and flowers
Tickling my arms as we wound through
The teeming garden,
So thickly planted
That the sun could only peek through,
And you pulled me on, to the center, where
There stood a beautiful lemon tree.
It was heavy with fruit waxy, bright yellow jewels,
Shaped like teardrops, each nestled in dark, green leaves
That held them like cupped hands.

You reached out to pull a ripe lemon from the tree,
And hushed my protests, for the fruit
Obviously belonged to someone else,
Who wasn't at home.
With the small knife in your pocket, you
Sliced this precious gift from the tropical sun
Open, splitting it in two, revealing
Juice and flesh and pulp inside,
And you held a half up to my nose to inhale
The amazingly sweet scent and
Then you held it up to my lips, and invited me
To taste it
While you did the same.

I cannot recall a taste so fresh, so tart,
So bracing and bright,
As the feeling of that stolen lemon
On my tongue
And on yours
A kiss that made every other sense come alive
And pushed the fears aside
Swallowed by the beauty of the afternoon.