My Santiago

Youth’s Prerogative

Sitting cross legged, Her black hair, Waved, askance across her face, she meanders in the mazy jargon of youth; arrogant yet not articulate, replete with drawn out pauses, maybe even affectation. Saying much more in gestures than words could ever say.

I noticed her!

Struck by the vitality of her youth;

Made ever more nostalgic from my middle-aged eyes!

They conversed: The words, Only a formality.

The rituals of courting. An elaborate facade;

Knowing what they needed Before words were spoken. Bracing themselves for that passionate moment.

Not for them The mechanics of sex without love; Nor the timid tinkering With mortality. Not for them the vicissitudes of life; The boredom, The squalor, The battle to survive!

Time enough for that!

They are Goddess and God! Sitting in the warm sunshine, Exuding youth And immortality.

Theirs is the prerogative of youth!