walk, don't run
remember when we were young?
the days were marked with our
own personal nuance in our
transparent and unbreakable plans,
and the hours by childish boredom and
evanescent impulse to break them.
we settled into each our own,
that we shared because we thought
we had each other right,
and when we were wrong
we served to one another our
indentured solitude.
the seconds were my friends and the minutes
broke their promises never to be long;
i won't belong without you and your scent.
i am afraid to be
a guest in my childhood home and a
passing tourist in my former dreams
which include you
remember how we ran?
early in the morning
we were scientists of the mind and body
and questioners and beholders
we tried the position of inquisition
of feet upon the dashboard and trash about the floor
and cigarettes and something remembered
not as potent anymore.
walk, don't run.
remember how we tripped over each other?
impregnable intensity drained us of our reason;
control became an asset of the controlled
but now i stand by the flank of the
ranks of real people,
and they teach me how to walk away.  
we ran too much, i think.