Shooting stars and the backs of cars
we were finding wings.
Flying kites, reaching higher heights
we were fragile things.

Down at Strands (almost) holding hands
one day you said, “love”.
Special nights under Circus lights
all that I dreamed of.

Dances, dresses—all successes,
you can rock a suit.
We watched orangs, I cut your bangs
bowl cuts can be cute.

Five-hundred miles from your bright smiles
sounds so far from sublime.
But yours I’ll be, if you’ll have me,
until  the end of time.