Youth

I suppose the are the “good ole days” The days where one has more time than money Cashed on for lounging and sun nibbled skin youth, a precarious thing all that experience have the fleeting notion of discovering a hidden treasure already found and reburied when lessons are experienced never told, how a babe first eats a dandelion instead of blows stumbling across the connections to be weeded out by growth fear and anticipation still tickles in the same hum whisper promises of forever is to a sympathy of cicadas to bears witness the same promise yet multiple forgotten caresses answer the plea Imprints fading yet some tattooed, wrapped to the rhythm of quickened breaths like a festering mosquito bite, awareness to the pace of time its disruption to one’s gate correlates with how much is paid to notice it losing possession of a touch of childhood