Confession

I remember
our first encounter.
Far away, you'd caught my attention -
aloof, sleek yet elegant.
You stood there silently, extravagant.

I remember
your glossy black outfit -
strangely stiff but smooth as silk,
and you stood out
among the crowd.

I remember
your sturdy physique -
solid, monolithic and exotic.
Your slick, silken curves flawless, accented
by the immaculate appearance you presented.

I remember
your ivory teeth,
perfectly shaped, perfectly arranged.
White in sevens;
black in fives.

I remember
your very first words,
spoken to me in a temperate temper,
in a familiar alien language I couldn't understand,
as I listened to your teeth prancing on every strand.

I remember
your crisp, cheery voice
which melted my heart away
as I am immersed in your rise and fall in cadence,
so harmonious, so mellow and dulcet even.

I remember
I closed my eyes
to focus on the tale you tried to tell.
With every syllable, I tried to imagine
what the composer had felt and seen.

I remember
my soul was a violent storm.
Rain and thunder crashed and thrashed,
destroying everything in my path
in uncontrolled, merciless wrath.

I remember
after meeting you
and listened to your stories - classical, jazz, ragtime,
the storm is contained, then sublimed
and the Sun shone for its first time.

I found you,
no, wait. You found me,
and you helped me find myself
after our first encounter,
I remember.