The soft encasement of our footsteps on damp grass,
cold which slowly seeps into my cloth made shoes
eventually to carry up my ankles, through and through
we sit on the old trailer, looking up
to a sky of but few stars, most hidden save the dippers
and our small talk begins to chorus with
the symphony of the night while we grant ourselves
permission to bypass such warning labels that
we've been wearing for the past year.

The past is the past, or so I've told myself
you've endorsed this new policy of "no regrets"
and sweep your tongue not only over my neck
but across beliefs held close for so long
I know not what to do with you, for I am leaving you
to an unknown I've learned of over and over again
merely by walking the same path in circles with you
and those circles have permeated a spell around my heart
which tends to seek, and return to you.

The change that corresponds between us displaces goodbye
we've tried so many times and the word is not strong enough
to cut the stem that is our understanding of one another which
stretches out between us over a sea of all that is flowing forward
dividing our worlds, placing us on separate sands
though we sit so closely now that our gazes still connect
in the dark where the moon hovers in a cloudless sky
and you've missed each shooting star that has flown
for the entire time, you were looking at me.

In bodies ever so familiar, our recognizable outer shells
we relax there for a while
because in the name of human decency, in our closeness
you and I may be gazing up at the stars talking about cats now
but I know that this is how we are waving across a vast sea
and if all of this flowery talk
is to be swallowed up by the night's shadows
as the cold continues towards my core and drives us inside
as our steps are forgotten by the damp lawn
I know, for truth, that goodbye does not quite blanket our history.

Yet, may a good-night lay to rest such things.