Those Casablaca Nights

White trellised walls intertwined with flowers. Piano music fills the air to turn into easy listening and jazz as the night gets longer though we are no longer counting the hours. No need to wait with open tab for my non-freezing vodka that bubbles from the soda, the moments have arrived within those white trellis flowered walls that we took outside to make the most of the nights. Our days were filled with work, my leaning forward to listen to his soft-spoken voice, following every word as with each affectionate look, my fragile heart could never break. The words were spoken in so many way, encompassing our world to be together as pillars of a temple. 

The dawn always seems so far away as we sit and linger to laugh during those Casablanca nights. There was never a need to be anywhere else as we were there. All others disappeared as these interrupted our moments and heedless of all else, no matter who was beckoning, the champagne was poured to take the place of the Stolich vodka that inhibits the inhibitor. Bubbling delight, a few sips, a toast to rather bitter champagne, pass the Asti Spumanti Martini and Rossi instead.

Simple pleasures, simple delights, times of quiet as we stare into each others eyes. To dare not look breeds more passion, to see the overwhelming power that holds and enfolds. The power was more, the allure was more, the energy was strong and made stronger with each deep breath that we take. For what is a touch but teardrops that slowly fall when there is longing. We dare not miss the call. 

Those Casablanca nights turned into days as the countless hours without each other was too mediocre, bland and tasteless, feeling empty as there is no gaze. 

Among the many whispers, promises were made to be kept for a lifetime of tenderness and gentleness. There was no mistakes, no hurt, no anger, just being. The music played for decades. 

"What do you want? Do you want me to destroy him?", the angry tones were subdued. "No.", was my answer knowing why his rage was going to hit as there was hurt. "What do you want?" prodding, asking, wanting. "We return to the way it was before." The pain was gone as he moved silently as expected to. Time passed and it was always sweet and warm. As he closes his eyes so I close mine to end the book of those Casablanca nights.