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taur442

You told me there were things you were going through.

You didn’t say; I didn’t dig. We were young,

I was new. You came down to visit and we ended

up picking Black-eyed Susans by the river, then spent

the night on fire in the back of my old Pontiac.

When the dopamine died, the heat of us cooled

and we navigated the implications. _What do we do now?_

You flew back home. There was something in the light.

What little we had transformed to radio static, bounced emails,

away messages on ICQ. If some things fail it can be

because we need them to. Did you figure things out?

I shouldn’t be/I’m thinking of you.

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