Oh, on the bank you waited glum in evening raiment, you were the
dust to my days, and like dusk you were divine. So imperfect, your teeth were of ivory and your eyes indigo- the wisps of your hair in candlelight, your eyes of sapwood, and your heart like a raven. Dark, yes you were, and different indeed. So fair you were, dressed in gingham rayon, and your lips vermillion like Malbec. In the face of our skeletons, our care was futile. and a hell did we not give. Wise thirties were our age, little worries were the days. Yet I still had a lingering appetency for the wine and its felicity bringing, you changed all of that. My dignity was a drought in the village we wondered, so the greenwoods we stayed. As your degrees high and mine odd, dame they thought of you, damsel you were. Katherine, the house was mine as much as it was yours, down to the patina on the oakwood table, empty beer, and the rusted painting of a glebe. The church- yard you went to every Sunday, oh how I miss hearkening thy cries. The stained kirtle you wore that frigid November night, how maudlin you were in the garth when you laughed and held a lightless glim. Underneath a weeping willow, your wishes were wistful with little wisdom, and in the evening we sat outside the hanging birch from which you swung on. Your smile grand in the ash like sacred oak, you were a drab on the branch, erelong us in locked lips. When you were perched high in the tree, I sat on the ground writing. Enthralled by your beauty, hereat, the odes and sonnets came. The age of thirty I was, yet the hoar of my hair settled because of your vim. The town you called home, what a shame we left in exile. Oh, ephemeral love, the greatest type of love. Katherine, dare I ask a ludicrous question? Dare I bare the shame your townspeople put on me? Heretofore, I used to think women served one purpose. Thank you Katherine for showing me all your grays and proving me wrong. Germany was a beautiful expedition, the azure was the place to be and the woodpeckers stayed high in the sky. You always said you could see the Rhine from when you perched yourself high in the birch, how the howling winds swept your feet cold but you didn't move. Alders and greenery, bungalows and rusted temples scattered our sidewalks. Baobab, like mythical earth, haunted us in our dreams and we painted dreamscapes with the lake water. Katherine, you I will never forget. Keeping me sidestepping age by a hairbreadth, being the muse to my most beautiful free verse poems, and always letting me weep—my tears dangled like a weeping willow. We were in folklore, swinging from the tallest trees, singing by the last embers, dancing with our shadows like they were our mothers. Flushed from our fight in the woods, we battled with branches and pinecones.
Germany, yes the beautiful land of villages and secretes. You could
say I loved the suburban, just as much I loved you, Katherine. I remember it like it was yesterday. Once I found myself at peace in the village, I went to the bar to find myself contemplating the varieties of beer. That's when I saw you, Katherine, strolling down the sidewalk in a silk coat. You were svelte and slim, I loved your vim. Maybe ale wasn't for tonight, you brought the same merry. Naturally, I drifted out the tavern and into your sight.
"Hello!" Spoke I out of the slenderness of my teeth, you looked over and nodded.
I told myself I couldn't let you go. Katherine, you were flawed in the most beautiful ways. Your nose slanted, your eyes sullen and sunk, your hair silk like scratchy stockings. As I approached you closer I could smell the cedar from your cheap perfume,
"What's a beautiful lady like yourself walking so alone?"
In the darkness, you waited and you touched my hand. So rough they were, but I felt fleece,
"I'm getting home to my family." You walked away with a warm, crooked smile. Returning it back, I watched you leave. I stood there with hope and I followed you. To your home, you felt most safe, and I watched you for days before speaking to you again. I watched as your father, the heir to the local newspaper shop, kiss your mother goodbye. And I watched your father kiss another women hello. Infidelity wasn't small in a village, especially one like this. I watched the books you picked up each visit to the library, your coffee order, and the people you talked to. One day when snowdrift was tall in November, I greeted you again. We both said hello and goodbye, and soon the word hello would be more frequent. The absence of you only made me want you more, so I continued to accidentally bump into you on the street and we made small-talk. In the late evenings of November, when the sun sets after lunch, I talked you one last time. You introduced me to your family. I knew them well enough from watching them everyday, but it was nice to make conversation with the people you called home. Your dining table, oak and withered down to a lifeless patina. Above, a fading painting of a glebe. Beer cans adorned the pinnacle of the trash, and the smell of rust lingered. Dinners was the next stage, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Your father came home late always. Your mother knew, she was just too proud to say anything. Bread rolls and potato soup were served almost every night. Weren't you tired, Katherine? Late November, I took you outside into the darkness and I whispered to you things only fairies could weep about. I had you alone and away from your family.
"Let's leave." I told you, we waded out into the greenwoods. the kirtle you wore was stained and you with your half-empty bottle of Riesling laughed. The glim you held was dim, but the glow it managed to yield had only the faintest brilliant hue; so you shared with me your dreams and secrets.

The days were harsh with keen winds and flocks of snow. After that night I led you out your home, you stayed with me. In my saddest hours I thought you'd flee, but your feet became familiar with ground. The shadows casted by trees became a light we never saw coming. In desperate times, we were holding onto each other begging to stay. Katherine, in February you took me to the graveyard. Your cries were beautiful because they were arisen from a place of loss and love. I remember I placed my hand on your shoulder and told you that tears come from the saddest and happiest places. I remember telling you that I want your tears to dangle like a weeping willow, the most beautiful and happiest tree. We stayed in the forest and we watched the woods become aglow by the hues Mother Nature sprang. I never wanted to make you feel less than you were. I admired you in the tree. You were like a wild cat; Eurasian Lynx, freely flowing from the bough of a tree. Under hurricane and storms, we were beneath the twigs and stones. And in the morning before dawn, we sword fought with twigs. Our laughter was a height the forest couldn't shake. Your skin so porcelain, your checks as vermillion as your lips, and your eyes grey as winter sky. I could write you in a million different ways- and I did. The best poems I've written came from beholding your vivacious beauty. Our whispers trembled and shook in the wind. Our breaths were heard in the avenues of your town, everybody soon found us out. Oh, what a shame we left in exile I shouted. What a damn shame!
I've walked in every corner of this town to hear mumbles of preachers who preached righteousness and arranged marriage. Katherine, your hands were to fit into the palms of Henry Arthur with innocence. You were meant to be the succession to the newspaper shop. You were meant to grow old and wise in your village. Then, the rain pattered against my broad shoulders as I left your town, and you watched as my footprints left behind memories. Your eyes beseeched me to linger like lust, but I left with closure. That is what was different about you, Katherine. I had left with all the closure the world could bear.

May I say one last thing, Katherine?
You are one damn wild woman.