I'm sure there used to be some impossible dream
of a forever after, or some such thing,
and I think it was eaten by the black hole
of the pillowcase which absorbed my screams
of anger, excitement, pleasure and pain.

Do you ever think about it? As we wrestled, giggling,
in the prickly mid-July grasses, bitten all over
by the bugs of the season... we didn't mind.
Each bite was like a burning kiss, a mark of
blossoming love and that which was still to come.

Wasn't there a promise, once? Can you even remember?
Memory fails me after such short time,
and I suppose it doesn't matter any longer.
But I still wonder who you were, who I was,
and what happened to those young people in love.

Did we ever talk about it? We talked of course, we talked
for so long one day the sun burned our faces away
and we showed each other who was underneath that
charred skin, we touched each other's skulls and marvelled
but never thought to plan for what might be.

I wouldn't go back to those impossible dreams, not now
when happiness envelops me and I am whole
and I guess you feel that too; you know
that we were meant to be then, but no longer -
our lives were meant to cross, not join together.