Sometimes I think about me and you
smoking prime times in the park
and how being outside was all it took
to feel awake and wide open
and how it felt to be
just three feet from you
and stare at our shoes.

We climbed the tiny jungle gym
where daylight fell on children playing
and then the sun went down and
children's dreams of kings and queens
yielded to tiny, almost-adult dreams
of being free.

This world was ours
and they meant so much
and nothing at all to talk about
our lives and how big they felt.
And how small we really were.

Hands slid along ***** chains
and legs pumped and
here we were, whimsical
with childhood past
and yet untouched by what would pass.

The air a canvas for laughter
and smoke
and bravado,
who knew?

Even if you were still here with us,
I'd still miss you.