you always wanted it to be like this

exit152:

We run & we run & search lights
sift the fog. How do I love you? Oh, same as
always. With a key in the door. Through
an open window. A little more on Sundays.

What’s young doesn’t stay young. I’m ready
to think of you fondly. In the boat when
you touched my face so softly that
it hurt for weeks, the aching wonder of

a reverse bruise. In my room, in the alley, in
the backyard dusk. A place where the
shadow lingers. They all say the same thing,
“it sure gets real late, real early.”

I’m okay with giving you everything. That’s
the way of the world, or at least of this
crooked universe. I just wish we’d had more
daylight before the dogs were called out.