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,
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
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,
and fingering my own weaknesses.