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
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