Cold Chicken Sandwiches

Walking along the cliffs it all came back.

On a blind afternoon

Old men’s thoughts crept in.

The past…always the past.

It was summer, warm winds, chilled wine, and cold chicken sandwiches.

I lay on my back slowly drifting, her hand caressing my neck.

She was talking about tomorrow (it was a time when tomorrows held promise).

 We’d made love in the sunshine, the sea way below us. So long ago…and yet.

These were the years of plenty.

Time stood still, we filled ourselves

with memories of love never lasting.

 Carelessly drifting from consequence to consequence.

 Playing the game.

Fifty years later

on that cliff top…

I can’t remember her name;

 just a face,

a smile…