The road from the port dipped,
As it ran beside the long pier,
Dark and dirty and quiet,
Efficient, unwelcoming, austere.

He walked slowly down the road,
Far away was a single streetlight,
A pale yellow glow in the tropic heat,
Just managed to hold back the night.

The bougainvillea smelled like honeysuckle,
Memories of youth spent far, far away,
In a place of snow and ice,
Not here, on the road to Mandalay.

Just walking from the ship caused a sweat,
His shirt now stained with salt,
He pressed on all alone,
Under the humid air’s assault.

But there among the flowers
He saw something move,
And out of the shadows,
Stepped a shape that he could love.

Petite in every sense,
Barely five feet tall,
A memory from long ago,
A living China doll…

She stood under the streetlight,
Exquisite in every detail,
His heart beat ever faster,
He paused and deeply inhaled.

She smiled as he drew near,
Then that laugh so sweet and clear,
Like crystals tinkling in the wind,
A memory that was so dear.

He smiled and then he asked
“Do I know you, Miss?”
She laughed again and then looked up,
That smile… and then… Her Kiss.

“You remembered all this time?”
“Of course and so did you.
How could I forget my angelic muse,
Under a light in Kota Kinabalu?”

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