Learn to love what doesn't cost too much

 
Could I have loved you more than when you grew your hair,      
extended those sorrow-pickled bones out, and open, and earnest,    
in a flurry of little, and late,      
where I've instead  
stretched my flesh around a thing to love,      
long    
scratched out the willingness to fall in love but grow it, harvest  
and cherish it    
more than any other beating thing    
on this beautiful, green planet,    
where I have found too much peace    
to ever come to you with a war on my hands,    
those lost battle cries done?      
Could I have loved you more between the day I fumbled like loose change    
and now?      
Memories run    
seamlessly.      
I still recall being too portly to touch,      
too scrambled to gather,    
too no to be yes.    
Ghosts overlook gardens,  
feet overhang the washing machine as it wobbles and    
everything pours giddy at the number seventeen.    
There is the scent of fresh cut pine,      
sea foam spray sat beside the promenade    
and conversations on conversations    
reeling where I couldn't keep up.    
There's that restaurant that closed down and so many vulnerabilities  
I wish didn't still tangle my tongue      
no less now, than then.      
I'm only older, I still love bread,  
melancholy songs  
and fingering my own weaknesses.