Look Back Running

Was I ever that young?

We loved as if we had forever,
danced lithe bodies through
the torid nights; kisses that
left dark wounds of sex and
the thrill of unmet violence,
loved like that was all there was.

We ate rough noodles that tasted
like golden silk, drank cheap wine
as if ambrosia, washed the sheets every
day, all we owned, dank with flesh heat
and the perfume of pugeant pheronomes.

And the more we aged the less we had.

No free nights while the wind blew chill
but hot with human furnace, just fine foods
too easilly gotten that melted in our mouths,
forgotten, stumbling in, full of cellared vintage,
but empty with still nagging cares, acquisitons
hung on busy walls, and we worried about the keeping,

Apart but dreaming of our brilliant selves,
porcelein dolls in the blinding light of love
and passion, racing through timeless
years now not nearly so endless.
And we stare so at the relentless clock hands;

were we ever that young?

And will we ever be again?

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