I used to want to be in love,
And read Pablo Neruda in the sun
On creaking porch steps in spring,
Understanding, it wasn’t always hard like this

It wasn’t always hard like this,
It once was fresh, like cut grass
Without the splendid stains of ***
And the strange maturity it imbues.
It wasn’t always hard like this,
It once was gorgeous, plain-spoken but
Warm and glowing as it welled up
In me and through you.
It wasn’t always hard like this,
We used to talk,
On your moonlight bed
and in my cluttered closet.
Our voices carried by phone line.
Across the city, and under the night.
We talked for so long,
Untill the dawn broke like
Rose petals, and orange peels.

But I miss you,
Your sweet-wax smell
And your cherry lip gloss,
My darling, once half
To my unfinished whole,
I miss you,
I remember reading Keats
To you in sunny lawn chairs,
Time forgot us both.