We were young, remember?

Only just of age, lying, after warm kisses,

Bathed by jasmine on the breeze,

On mossy foothills, dappled

With the blue of myriad gentian,

Outshone only by your lustrous eyes

Gazing up into mine,

And then, beyond me, to snow-coated

Matterhorn looming over us.

That killer peak offered challenge

But a more sensuous venture lured us,

With that jasmine-scented breeze

Blessing our mood, I asked the question,

Blue eyes dipped briefly.

Before the gold in your hair captured the sun,

As you nodded your assent to love’s prelude,

And, midst gentle kisses, my eager caring fingers

Sought your smoothest skin,

Your pink-budded hills and sumptuous valley.

There, shielded by mountain shrubs,

Your fingers found me, held me

Guided me into the rapture of you.

And together, borne on that Jasmine breeze,

We sought to soar higher

Than any mere mountain peak.

Too fast, too soon, was that imperfect first rhapsody

So fondly we kissed, strolled down

Dined, retired, and, with new-learned ardour,

Under Matterhorn stars, our bodies

Composed our concerto of perfect love.