Sweetest Fruit

It was a ’68 Nova
With a 350 Chevy small block.
Solid gold tunes
Gushed from the speakers
In the doors and dash.

I was 17 again

Seven feet tall
And bullet proof.
There was nothing
I did not know
Or was incapable
Of doing.

In seconds that sparkling car and I

Was airborne.
We were as one
That Nova and I.

The air was morning fresh
And the aroma of earth
Filled my nostrils.

Oh, my Lord

But wasn’t it a remarkable dream!

Those memories are deeply etched

And come as fresh as
Strong coffee
Morning sex
Or mist rising from the fields.

It must be more than ’68 Novas

Or childish plans.
Or speed.
More than music.

Whatever “it” is

It taps the soul’s deepest chamber
And mines the heart’s finest ore.
 
I cling to
And cherish the moment
And hope again
For one last touch
Of life’s sweetest fruit…
Life
Youth
And Freedom.