I remember that evening
when you were love-drunk,
freely swinging in the park.
Giddy with some fantasy
or maybe you knew
with whom you were involved.
We stayed awake all night,
just two kids with nothing going on.

I remember us sneaking out.
It was much easier for me.
My dad just didn't care.
I could come and go as I pleased.
You had to do the sneaking
through your window
when the lights went out.
There was a trailer
at the bottom of your property,
our little shelter from the world.

I remember eddies of cigar smoke
whirling in the mouth of an open cave.
We sat together at the entrance.
There was an easy tranquility
with a slightly skewed view.
You wished that we could stay forever,
but I was more concerned
with heading out anew.

You saw me change in many ways
and I wonder what that did to you.

Something about you hit me over the head.
It stopped me and demanded that I pay attention.
If you could see yourself from my perspective
would you recognize your pattern,
or would my mind's symbolic formulations
elicit vague, unknown connections?
Have you seen your half-closed eyes
as twin crescent moons caught bathing
at the waterline, innocent yet fully exposed
with your mischievous grin whispering bubbles into foam?
Have you seen your kaleidoscopic iridescence
pouring outwards in a whirl, projected as a flaming wheel
spinning without consideration to the bounds of our perception?

I want to shake you now and make sure you understand.
You're heading to the top, love! It's not the time to play pretend.